Resolve: If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to go on a hitchhike road-trip across the American south-west, find myself a Mexican lover and then write a jazz, poetry and drug inspired manuscript with a tongue-in-cheek title, something like 'Jacked Off'. (You heard it here first
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Try as hard as you can you can't
I think of many examples where stuff you do would annoy the shit out of me if it were someone else. But not you. I don't know why I just let you get away with it.
Is this love?
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