I'M A SLEEPWALKING CHEETAH WITH A HEART FULL OF LIP BALMWe were ultra purple and also so for real. In the binge harvest, we got it straight from the source. We made things meaningless so meaning then could come. Watch us whittle ugly urges. Watch us tabulate the inky costs. Good lord, I think you could have waited at least until we hit the next text stop. We look up at the new reflective roadsign typeface: All the World’s a Forgotten Boy. We tune in to the weather band and listen to a poem of pure joy written by police. BIG MONEY FOR BROKEN GOLDYou find out what kind of neighborhood you’ve got by how the others jump when you pass them on the sidewalks. In ours, they’re almost all resigned to being overtaken by surprise. If you want to know their secrets, hang out behind the hotel where the employees all sneak smokes. When next we see those idle dads shredding by sunset at the trashed skatepark, let’s make a pact to never jump again. Her ring was diagnosed nine karats British dull, and I thought right, the rationing. Your grandmother’s story is never not achingly everything. ✱✱✱
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