It's nearly dawn; I can't seem to find sleep. I also can't seem to convince myself of anything.
I'd like some Scotch, some nicotine, and the truth, please. Straight up. And put it in a dirty glass.
Yes, a punch in the face in the interim will do nicely, thank you.
Here is the problem with me. Everything is singular, yet nothing pierces. Things can't
(
Read more... )