So this is what it was like for you.

Outside the streets are empty of traffic, leaving a void that desperately needs to be filled drifting aimlessly from one abandoned building to another. The streetlights have begun to flash nothing but yellow since they have neither need nor purpose at this hour of the night. These are the moments that I treasure with MB: moments in which nothing eventful really happens. It is just the two of us slowly tracing the double yellow line of an abandoned downtown street in a forgotten city. These are the moments when we just are. We are who we are without having to prove anything, without having to explain ourselves, without the complexities of life surrounding us. These are the moments in life that we can just sigh and not worry about anything. But then as one lone car makes us retreat back to the sidewalk, reality hits. There will be no more of these moments. I will leave in the morning.

Reverse black panther

What is just and good? The market on a sunny Saturday.
What is the origin of species? But it can't be just between us.
Terror precedes what? Yes.
What did God do on the 8th day? Could I relinquish my will.
Are you gay? If I could be the personification of the concept of trying.
What comes easily next? Our future together.
When did you last have sex? Having it still.
What is heartbreak? No. It's 6.
What is ribboned in? 7 years.
What do I want or what do I think I want? Only after sex.
What am I after? Absolutely not.
What is your sense of self most like? Divorce.
What is the best ship? Something long and hard.
What traits are most desirable in a man? Only when aroused.
Have you ever seen death? I wish I could be clearer.
What, if anything, is unseducable? A poet.
Why not tell me what I am doing here? No one really knows.
Who is God? Suppose a lion at the kill--that's us.
What is love, John? It is blood letting I imagine.
Why did we meet? Please! I had hoped so often.
These games are about what? John Myers.
What are we doing in 30 minutes? It helps.
What is your deepest desire? A lawyer.
Vodka or gin? It is green as the smell of pine.
Brandishing a _________? Bottom.
Why not? I know it's after 3pm when it happens.
What does blue taste like? Hungrily is the only way.
Where do you see yourself? That's what she said.
What are stake drapes? It is the railroad between us.
Five flowers for sale or sixty? Black & blue.



This stars of my childhood...

...are misaligned here in the West.

What makes a painting real?

How many Trojans have fallen in the name of Helen?



The highway is close. Then a straight shot to the doctor’s. She takes the last bend off the weaving, country road. The highway is in sight. She doesn’t bother slowing down. She passes the stop sign lying on the edge of the road—a victim of a drunken teenagers attempt to miss a wondering deer. The car swerves onto the highway–fishtailing away. But it doesn’t matter. She has to make it to the doctor. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. Salty sweat pours down her forehead and stings her eyes as it makes it way down past her red veined cheeks, over her pressed lips, and falls off her dimpled chin and stains her dressing gown with yet another of her own liquids. And then a searing pain worse than any of the others takes over her stomach. She lurches forward into the steering wheel, which she has let free of her hands. Her eyes shut automatically—a feeble attempt of the body to reduce the pain.

Bruce dans la chambre à coucher est une nécessité.

10 U.S.C. § 654

Paris is not burning.

...and eat strawberries.