But I don’t even know what a collective is. And I can’t remember if he had tattoos.
In the train carriage, we’re hot in our furs, brooding and half-drunk.
One weird Halloween everybody dressed up as Elliott Smith.
like HFCA is kind of artless manipulation
it’s not subtle
I was taking a new drug that was making it so I could talk to my car.
We loved her but expected her to go on and on, weeping with her flowers and crown, reciting poems.
People keep saying that they can’t say anything but everyone is saying everything all the time.
Finally, Mr. Mackey, the chair of the school’s English Department, delivered a rambling panegyric about the school’s depth of talented writers. I left my seat in the bleachers to fetch a Dr. Pepper from the vending machine.
Like many who quit drinking, my mother became a proselytizer for sobriety.
I was six years old.
He was a German Shepherd named Andy.
A life spent on your tiptoes, trying to fish the moon from the sky is, in fact, very good.
The other half was the memories of the end. The time Teddy had threatened to burn the only copy of my novel.
crushes and snorts several thousand milligrams of sildenafil on a nsfw livestream and masturbates until his heart explodes
They were a bull dyke in a bull dyke’s body, so God refusing to LET [THEM] DIE was more like, fuck.
He struggles to come up with actions that give him a sense of joy or purpose when she is not around.
Do I break up with my Venezuelan surfer and move back to Alaska? I debated. Or bring him to the U.S. and marry him?
Abigail’s face blotched with hot blood. I made my way to the back of the room, ordered a whiskey at the open bar, repainted my lips cherry red.
Yesterday, The Coffee Cart Guy on 38th and 6th had sex with Rachel on the floor of his metal breakfast cart.
The humid air mingling with my warmth stretches my sense of self this morning. Settling again into my day, I guide myself to the kitchen to make my breakfast. The routine comforts me. I’m tragically
He says he feels like all his problems would be solved if he stopped going to that bar.
he flashed a toothless grin, all James Dean California Cool, a tan blonde blue-eyed surfer type. I imagined him as the boys Lana sang about.
