Behind me, walking in the NY streets when I was trailing that person, he got a handjob and busted mad quick. He felt fake. Radio powers.
The Indian, voices say you wanted to be Indian, threw shit in the other girls face, stole her ticket. Something like that.
In both scenarios we aren’t an item, but it does begin to rumble, jostle what’s left of any emotion still brightly burning inside of me.
I do not know what to do.