I ran to the bathroom more times than a teenage bulimic. I’m not used to all this emotion.
Waiters tap their fingernail impatiently on the table and remind you, sternly, that the bill doesn’t include a tip, even as they hand you the menu.
On my birthday I go to an exhibition. Its themes are: death, separation, misery, gloom. Everything but fun. Perfect!
He’s too polite to say he thinks he’s more handsome than me, but he’s not too polite to think it.
We’re drunk and happy, and howl into the night, like wolves in the forest.
I discover that doing nothing is more fun than having nothing to do
He laughs. “I wish! I wish you’d fuck me.” He howls this into the night. He doesn’t care who hears. “Fuck you all!”