As the track marks move up your arm

[forgoodmeasure]

Another autumn, another semester. The leaves havn't bled yet but it already smells like death. School is fine but we aren't playing enough lounge jazz. The fair was alright but I didn't make out with anyone or puke on a ride so it might've well just never happened. And yea, the whole lack of intimate relations isn't exactly a highlight in my social life. Somebody's in re-hab, another person is moving away, another one in closer, another further away, and I suddenly have an abundance of telephone numbers. And come on, I wash cars.

...lame...