Lately I've been reading and rereading the suicide letter of Hunter S. Thompson
No more games.
No more bombs.
One sister is depressed and one sister is busted open.
I have eaten all the crackers in the house
and now I have to starve until Monday.
But thats ok because I am almost too tired
to get up and walk to the fridge anyway.
Clothes have been piling up on my bed.
I have more t-shirts than anyone I know.
I have green ones, white ones, red ones, mostly black ones.
On top of the pile is the latest Rolling Stone.
Maybe I will read it later.
Maybe I will stop breathing.
I can never tell the future, its a mystery to me.
My friends have jobs, I have responsibility.
I've watched more movies this summer
than all the summers past combined.
I feel summer. Go figure.
I am much more a fan of fall.
Fall, fall, falling in love.
I met him in Spring but tornadoes and bugs come in Spring so Spring can never be my favorite.
His birthday is July 11.
I have no idea what to get him.
I have no money.
Maybe he wants t-shirts.
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Submission Name: Summer Narrative
