there's no point to any of this. it's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. so I take pleasure in the details. you know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt..troy dyer in reality bites.
Friday, March 27, 2009
bed of roses
the question is about time and space. time and space. little did he know that he ain't getting any.
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