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Letting words fall from my mouth at a discount price, mumbling nonsense in a phone booth somewhere - I shouldn’t be getting good at these things, but I am. My neighbour is always drunk and looking for his keys. I just want to get away to a place where I don’t get so easily annoyed at someone peeling a banana from the wrong end. Later I try to explain this to Aaron, because out by the lake I find him again, or he finds me, and there’s other people too. Except it’s cold as hell and the plaid shirt he gives me to wear is really fucking cozy and smells like magazine cologne. Instead I just wait for him to finish his rum, so that he can tell me, in white hot broken syllables, about the boy who makes Massachusetts feel like worlds away.
