Walking through the near south neighborhood before nine am, I realize that hot guys wear nothing but overalls, a-shirts or pajama bottoms as they walk their dogs through the alleys—Lincoln, I think I love you: muscles, tans, ethnicity, heights, and hair with a touch of husker or cowboy hat; I will be waking up early now.
My self pity and my neighbor… they should get a room (gag)
I was just about to end my evening right when I get a ring. I look at it and weigh my options. Three minutes of a one way conversation—I can feel the spit spray through the telephone receiver I already keep at a distance— and I don’t know what to do with myself. I was and am tired. But after an evening of suspense and horror bits I was ready to retire. Now I feel agitated and I want to drink angrily at him and curse him out for laying his shit on me before trying to sell me weed. It doesn’t take much, I suppose, to tip my scales.
A good tumblr session might smooth my sheets.