they tell me i’m curt now.

It’s because nobody apologizes anymore. I tell you, it’s a mistake. Apologies are the benjamin franklins of emotional currency. I almost even like myself in the moments after i’ve crafted an endearing apology. But nobody ever apologizes to me. Apologies are the nitrates which fertilize all misled fantasies of change. Somehow little in life seems as true as a beautiful apology.

curt is the name of southwestern white trash. curt is the name of my adjective.

tonight I almost tore off a fingernail in a new fur coat. a woman with wild hazel eyes in full niqab hijab brought a tree onto the train during rush hour. She made a sound I had never heard at me when I accidentally touched it. That’s the thing about new york. you’re constantly standing between an erratic woman whose facial features will never be anything but a mystery to you, and some guy thats reminiscent of bob from twin peaks. Every day is sort of nightmarish, and it ends up being terribly, terribly funny.

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