The quietest hour here is 5-6am.
I walk into Starbucks with
these typos in my head.
They are divine and I’m in the
mist, actually jogging at
first. Every morning
when I get to Battery
the temperature says 56°F.
Then
I write seven pages.
For some reason I am doing this
to forget about honesty.
I can’t roleplay. It’s Tuesday
and I miss proximity.
