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We are accidents waiting to die.

I'm ready, mostly.

You could just come.

And we'd be in awe of each other, because you would be so cool, and I would be so cool (though, I'd never see it).

And we'd drive around, until we got too hot, because my air conditioner doesn't work, and then we could come back here, where the air works too well, where I get cold. We could hide under the covers and pretend it was Winter, and raining, and we had nothing better to do than pretend to sleep. We'd play the My Favorite Song game, where I make you listen to every song that's ever meant something to me, and even the one song I keep secret, to listen to before bed, when I'm feeling lonely.

Which is less and less these days. I have a circle of friends, more than one, and plans far in advance, so that if you came, I'd have to cancel them.


Better to tap me on the shoulder, because from where I'm sitting, I can't hear you.

3:40 p.m. - 2003-07-25


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