"In a sunlit tavern, in a corner booth sucking stale popcorn, there I met dear Ruth. She’d only just lost the baby, seven months and a week, drank a month of Seagrams, kissed me on the cheek."
how many low law bombs would a bob loblaw lob if a bob loblaw could lob low law bombs
i want to write the kind of short stories you read in english class that are on this weird level of surrealism that they still haunt you years down the road
yesterday was nine years ago
just let that sink in