I am not okay. I'm wine-drunk and living in constant fear. My cigarette is burning short, as is my patience. I can't inhale my choice of herbs in my own home, I don't know where the Keizer P.D. will pinch me next... Fuck it all anyway. Innocence is relative, fuck'n a. Innocence doesn't mean shit when there are quotas to be met and cases to be
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Then go ahead and realise that the answer to that question doesn't matter; not one iota.
We all end. In the greater scheme of things we'll all end soon. Being bitch-slapped with the friviality of life is all the more reason to live it the way you *want,* not to abandon it to the whims of chemicaly induced coma. (I'm talking about booze, not pot.)
Put down the bottle, and when you get a moment skype me. I'm always around, but you're always 'away.' I'll be in Salem soon, and we'll walk to Taco Bell.
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What the fuck?
No, seriously. What the hell is going on back on the farm?
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I fully intend to call you soon. Provided you lose the wine and put on some clothes. :D
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Also: a role in Highway of Time 3 = LATIN YES!
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