I'm into things the color of saffron, awkward parties, and aggressive recycling. I know the seven words to make a woman love me. But I am not under any orders to make the world a better place. Because there's no point to any of this. It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a cup of coffee, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I just sit back and I smoke my spirits and I ride my own melt. But you can't navigate me. I may do mean things, and I may hurt you, and I may run away without your permission, and you may hate me forever, and I know that scares the living shit outta you 'cause you know I'm the only real thing you got. And if you just don't understand why things can't just go back to normal at the end of the half hour like on the Brady Bunch or something, well, Mr. Brady died of AIDS. Things just don't ever turn out. //
