17.04.23, or urban infitters
the freshly‐awoken smell of traffic makes me vomit before 7am. fastly paced for people watching, (watch your step, kid!), and there's a leak on the subway, so you gotta wait for the next train. I'll be late for my class today.
I have a class to help me write better stories and one to help me think. it's funny, and I like them, but I always catch myself scribbling away through lessons wondering whether we weren’t all born knowing how to think and tell good stories - and if so, when did we all unlearn it? I'm convinced it was around your eighteenth birthday. it usually is.
I wanna go home and I barely left. I could just turn around and head back to my room, but I couldn't really. not really just as it's not really home either. it's this could-but-couldn't dressup shitshow that makes up growing up through tour hometown, I guess. watch me do it again.