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Making up constellations.

Drunk and stoned wandering home across the train tracks after watching surreal cartoon of the 90s. Hoping a quick fag will counteract the depressants but quick enough so the cold air doesn’t freeze my hand not safely secluded in my pocket.


The grass next to the sidewalk has already frosted over for the morning to come.


Karen O screams/orgasms in my ear to keep my pace going. At one point I jog, holding my art bag in my arm. Protecting it. A precious parcel.


I seem to have lost my spoon bracelet.

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