I've already weened myself away from these vices. Beer, cigarettes, internet. Maybe if i drink porn and smoke heroin, life would seem different. You know where I was pleasant? On the beach, snorting sand, shoveling sun. I didn't have one moment to think about dandruff or false angles. I couldn't despise what i had written, because it was only my name, in cursive. I didn't despise your technique, because it was absent, in print. My happy rage can't understand Spanish, can't speak no shit. I was so happy, you shoulda seen it.
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