Now I don’t care anymore. I’m writing posthumously; I’m invisible now – like an “aging actress”!
I was sobbing too loud for the men’s room and I was in no shape to explain myself so I settled on the supply closet next to it. After a couple minutes of moping I got a BBM (we had to have Blackberries then, for whatever reason) from Jarrett. “Were fuck are you bro?”
How much would you pay to have an honest conversation with yourself?
He turns up late to almost all of his final exams, answers whatever questions he feels like and defaces the rest of the paper.
I vomited
up a prophecy in a dive bar,
inhaling hot dogs.
