watching expired appliances align

some notes cribbed from things wriitten while on the subway. written on the back and sides of some issue of the new york press picked up while on houston street. and after i got a few slices of pizza.

fuck those people and the rest of the damn critics. i can't even write. forgetting those damn apostrophes, and commas and damn shitty periods. saying 'fuck all' to the letters when i put pen to paper. who needs the damn spacebar when a piece of pizza crust flung at a paper plate is all i have to show for this night? sitting across from me also smoking camel lights, she and i talked transformers and high school. WHY DID SHE HAVE TWO PACKS? shouldn't the first pack have been disccared, crushed and tossed away with the rubbish? good night kiss? HA! Not going to happen as I'm too drunk to carry on a conversation. A conversation about WHAT? Videogames?

That subway car that carries all the trash is right in front of me.

I just want to get home. Yet I'm longing to look at her flowing red locks but to do so...she pulled them into a tight bun by the end of the night. things were going well until i went for that last drink. the music from the bar had gotten too loud. i made some silly 'move.' no longer sitting across from her. In order to hear her better, i swear! more than longing to touch her thighs. DATE OVER.

Why, oh why, did I mention the half beard? thoughts of throwing contacts into trash, ridding my eys of this embarassing niht and my hideous night. i just want one more amazing kis. that's all. too much to ask?

i talked too much. [deleted] so into the moment. less than drunk. more than high. fuck. it is the local traing.

no one here says "doors closing" like they do in d.c.

i can't keep my pants up. and i mean that in a the way that i can't keep them from falling lower than my waist.

nerve.com. fuck.