June 3, 2015 § Leave a comment

Lovesick in the laundromat, where they jukebox nonstop torch songs in a language I don’t understand. Little kids running around underfoot having the time of their fucking lives, while the adults stare at Full House reruns on TV, and some prick is whistling cheerily. I want to stab him. My clothes sit idle in the washer for 20 minutes while I fumble at the fleeting sense of a thought I almost held. It never comes to me, and I fear I’m either too proud or too stupid to chase it.


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