Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I'm never going to have anything nice.

I know this, however:

There is nothing worse, when one knows this, than sitting in a cab, betwixt two people for whom this is not true, who immediately start speaking of the brownstones, etc. they could buy.

And they're not trying to impress you.

They're close friends. They're just in another world than you are.

One that you'll never be in.


I want to vanish. This is my last request. I've given you the awful truth, now give me my rest.

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