I know that. As I laid out the various piles of trash bags, I knew that too well. An apartment filled with dye and questions that wander around like they’re trying to impress me. I impress easily. When I smoke, I drag, so much that it puts me to sleep instantly. I can feel your bulky finger tips smearing themselves along the side of my face, I tell myself that this is real life and real life feels uncertain. Guitar strings are being looped in the background and I made up a new name for myself cause I want to be included.
Don’t you lie?
Isn’t that what you do? Lie to women.
I’m just kidding man.
I can hear. I can hear as good as I can run and I like to pretend I have leg cancer, so I don’t run anywhere. I count the number of women you have on my tippy-toes.