1.1.11
“Fine.”
“I feel that— I know— evidently this isn’t working, I know you feel it isn’t working and so it makes it harder to quell the envy in me even though I like him,” Addy rambled on faster, “I love you and I can’t talk about this right now and we should take some time apart
on a quiet night, from as far back as you can get to see it from the outermost sector. Hard to look at, no? It’s an acquired taste for the eyes. The mesmeric vibration of the center induces near optical exhaustion on a busy evening when the strands and wires all dance about. This night
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“Why can’t you say his name?” she retorted, returning to the message on her phone, suddenly mad, and despising her sudden madness.
“It’s still not working, and—” Addy sighed staring at the wall. “Well, the ire in your eyes slapped me stone cold overtop the shot glass before you disappeared with him.”
You can find the mirrored glass high-rise from any corner of the interspatial web. A centering landmark in the social sector, each and every window bounces some refraction of the red neon down the streets. I got pelted by the hooligans with the red rubber balls on my way past youtube to my mailbox. Through
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She drank without sitting up too far and mumbled after the water dripped from the crease of her mouth onto the sweat stained couch. “Something needs to change.”