Your Anger is as Hard and Precise As Your Fists

May 24, 2006

It was late in the evening and everything seemed too complicated. Girls … booze … cigars … yearnings for rapture. You wanted to punish your body and the universe, so we ate greasy chicken with our bare hands and felt raw, angry.

Whenever the world goes to shit we take it out on birds.

Posted by Tudor at 11:35 PM in Various Positions | TrackBack

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