The birds are confused. They've forgotten how to fly, or where, or something. I want to go and hang out with a bunch of friends I don't have, and make small sad conversations and drink during the day and do drugs I've already done. Drugs I don't even really want to do. I want to live another life for a little while. Go to parties that don't exist. Drive cars I don't know how to drive and travel down streets in shoes that are too big and too expensive and utterly not me. I want to be a tall thin blonde with very little going on inside my head. I want to get a manicure and piss myself laughing. I want to know people who've shit the bed and don't care and think its funny, because it is. A man in an SUV called out to me. I didn't make eye contact. A seagull flew straight into his windshield. I walked home.
That is something I wrote that is not true. Or maybe it is. Maybe its a character, or maybe its me. I don't know. I'm eating utz red hot flavored chips because I couldn't find flaming hots. Woe is me indeed.
1 comment:
liked it.
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