Rach, Em & I walk down Yonge, passing Dundas square, on our way to the car. I see a woman in shades, with a long coat, and an empty Tim Horton's cup. I look straight on ahead
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it seems I havent said a thing to this journal is some time, early June I see. the trouble is, and please don't quit on me quite yet, this journal is mostly a mouthpiece to a handful of people with me on their friends list. which poses the question: what the point
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It is monday morning and my shoes are bright green and the sun is windily finding everyone in town and waking them up and asking them out for a stroll. It is spring and we are all suddenly elated. No one is down these days, no one is blue. Baseball games and barbeques and booty calls, too. It is the time of year when we climb carefully down our
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It is monday morning and my shoes are bright green and the sun is windily finding everyone in town and waking them up and asking them out for a stroll. It is spring and we are all suddenly elated. No one is down these days, no one is blue. Baseball games and barbeques and booty calls, too. It is the time of year when we climb carefully down our
( Read more... )
EDIT: And 100,000 other people read that Kurt died at 2am and 100,000 other people all shrugged, smiled, and said, "So it goes," because we're all so damned clever, aren't we?