if charlie were here, i'd wear fuck-me boots, little else, with scotch in hand. and every now and then, i'd twirl my glass, just to hear ice swirl; find my heart again. i'd tell him about the time i gave my man head; the whole ride down route 95. how i did it for a living before my man and i met, before breathing was good, and skies were true. we are all sinners. aren't we charlie?
i killed a wasp on tuesday.
i can't tell you how much that hurt because i tried, i really tried to whisper her outside. she wouldn't listen though so i beat her with words. (some silly advert about children's clothes, all rolled up, like i was gonna hit a dog). (funny, that). i call her she; because she seemed like a she. female. looking for a place to burrow. God forgives you, my friend said.
but i killed a wasp. ya know?