Have you ever stood there on the edge with a sandwhich of truth and a prostitute’s lunchbag, understanding? It’s that sunset of regret that I skip mental stones towards. I am the needle on the edge of the record realizing the true nature of spin cycles. One time I met a dog that couldn’t talk, but had mastered breakdancing; we would lay down the cardboard and make sexual caligraphy to Run DMC.
Take a couple breaths and I’ll look at your missing adam’s apple. Sometimes a single bead of sweat drips down it, sometimes you wear a turtleneck and force me to get annoyed, who the fuck wears turtlenecks? Let’s read a couple books together and see ourselves fade like Marty Mcfly’s family, leaving reality where we once stood.
I ordered vodka orange, she ordered me to take off her pants. We went back to her melrose place, and mel, what roses indeed. Somewhere an alcholic father is drawing the window blinds, and so my eyes close as we go to commercial break. Nonsensical cents quaters and dimes, can you spare some change?