I Like To Go Through Strangers’ Closets And Sit In The Middle Of The Room
Being in stranger’s bedroom is one of my secret favorite things.
Being in stranger’s bedroom is one of my secret favorite things.
I never know when I will be scratched and stabbed and choked with electrical cords, or suffocated with a plastic bag, or have my head beat against a wall.
My month in Krakow was short-lived, with the affection I felt for you in those few minutes even more momentary.
You slowly approach Stall 2 and pull down your dress. Your bathroom guest has not yet left, so you brilliantly flush the toilet as you release your first wind to cover up any ghastly toots or squeeks.
These three thoughts are the very criteria that proved to me that I had developed an identity throughout my life. They were questions that I asked myself on my death bed.
I am really sorry, mom and dad.
Those possessing any other physical or intangible traits of said female’s most recent ex-boyfriend need not apply, i.e. callused hands, wandering eyes, shotgun laugh, uncanny ability to make a four-course meal out of whatever happens to be in the cupboard.
Women are drawn, above all, to the fact that I am a man in the way they have grown up learning a man should be.
Technology dissolves the notion of “class.”
Hey. I’m writing to say I’m sorry.