If there was a car that went thru walls and everything else we could drive it and there would be no bullshit like making a living or being nice to some girl's ugly mom and then later the whole time while you are doing it you wonder the entire time if she is going to end up looking like that thing.
No wait. That's like a total plot for a road trip [with a dark twist] movie [excuse me I mean a] film.
Instead I would like my wistful meander to involve a cute honeypie who 1. does not bother me and 2. i do not bother im-
possible I know but regardless one can't insult her mother if one wants to hit the heynansker nawmean so let me back up. Also and only as a quick interjection: Don't you hate when ppl write like whiggers on fb? It annoys the fuck out of me.
Anyway. Back to the thing.
Yeah so your blue eyes would be a Benetton ad and I would know by your unpainted fingernails that you are of the bourgeois or at least mimic very well and really for this application that is totally ok becuz money is not needed in my special writing world. I mean. Ok. It's needed. But I already have it
And we would drive that endless car and write novels with our conversations and there will also be a rocket ride to the Moon. An actual one too. Not some metaphor for sex. You don't have to worry about that. I'm more into moping around the countryside with you. Taking Polaroids. Listening to the Smiths. I mean
We can eat at gas stations baby. And we will never go back. Tu Credi
I don't like a lot of things. But I like writing. And I like thinking that you just read what I wrote.