He sits on a lightpost on the 520 floating bridge. I see him eight times a week. He's really freaking big. Point to Mr. Hitchcock.

That is all.

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The need to write is so strong right now, but there are no words. There’s a glaring lack of declarative sentences, of deep and inquisitive questions as to the intricacies of the human psyche and the bullshit that is life.

How sad is it when you feel so hopeless that you are unable bitch and moan about it? I can’t summon the ability to list ( Read more... )