This is about as far as I can go without some sarcasm creeping in. But before it does, I must say, with utmost sincerity, that your cookies are good enough to bring some of these wax statues back to life. Thanks for that. I once made corn muffins for a fourth-grade project on Williamsburg and they came out like baseballs. So I’m not sure how to reciprocate… but, believe me, I shall.
I mean, they’re only the best punk band out there right now, named for the fucking apathy of a xenophobic fucking nation oblivious to the fucking terror its leaders wreak on the rest of the world because they’re too busy worrying if their cat might be stuck up a tree or something.
All this hoping for nothing-or someone-that’s maybe hopeless
Dash is getting very frisky in here with me, Mark.” What I wanted to say was I wish Dash was getting frisky in here with me.
Dash raised an eyebrow at me again.
“No he’s not,” Mark said.
“How do you know?”
“Because if he was, you wouldn’t be calling me to rescue you right now, Googly Eyes.
I guess I’m nervous to be meeting you,
The mind has an ear of its own and sometimes memory is the fiercest fucking DJ alive.
Unfortunately, now that Langston has a boyfriend again, he has forgotten all about me.
I don’t think we should ever try to meet again; there’s such freedom in that. Instead, let our words continue to meet. (See next postcard.)
Books. I’d probably spend all my time alone and lost in books if I could. It’s easier that way.
My family lives in that building now, along with Grandpa in the fourth-floor “penthouse