At the book store with mom. To work. To write. Um. Poetry I guess but if I could learn to write short stories that would work really well, too. Blog posts are easy, of course, for me, because I hold myself to no standards with them. Wearing my mask and everyone else is except the guy that has to smoke because he’s addicted to nicotine and cigarettes walking down the large sidewalk or what would you call it in front of the book store.

That was an awfully pretty paragraph wasted on an awfully stupid audience. You guys fucking suck.

Well.

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