This is what we do, right? How
come I never follow the rules?
Don’t stop me now, don’t need to
catch my breath, I can go on and
on and on.
Nobody knows about this.
Death is a turd. Maybe I’ll
restart the novel.
Fogroll out the living room
window. A few sirens over the
hill, windows rattling. One girl
sitting out window two windows
down (toward Mason).
Nick just sent message:
Newsflash: I am fat.
How are u?
The newest Mirage
and The Story of Late
Chrysanthemums.
