THE (CODED) MORAL OF A (TRUE) STORY
“did you see me back him up against the wall? huh? did you see me pick him up w/one hand? i could have killed him. did you see his little cartoon character? honestly i could have killed that little twerp. Did you see me lift him up like that? man, what a wuss.”
i’ve been awake for just over twenty-five minutes now. i have no faith in wednesday anymore. please, deliver me back to my bed.
I often had magical experiences similar to this one when I lived in San Francisco.
One involved a whore walking home at daybreak yelling and crying to herself (beautiful), a woman rolling out of a car in the Mission and having a seizure (her companion in panic), a bloody fight in the Mission Burger King (a river of blood), and lastly while walking home pleasantly buzzed on the first day of a new year someone tried to mug me and I simply pushed them out of the way and continued to walk into the sunrise energized and tired from the night.