This is either a special event
because it never happens or it's
incredibly dreary because it even
happens at all. Softness does not
satisfy me. I want a street where
all the stores are closed, we drove
on it anyway. Once a week does
not satisfy me. My notebook slash
laptop is spiraling, to death slash
heaven; the lilac walls of heaven
are wallpapered with indulgence.
My pants are actually on, and
Molly Ringwald does not satisfy me.
My desperation would insult her
but would insult so many more people
that I might actually know, if I tried.
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