A goddamn hickey. That's number two - no, number three - in the past two months. I go a good twelve years with no high-school-style hickeys, and suddenly I hit my late twenties and there's a mouth party on my neck.
My night just involved the following: whiskey, mutual laments on the missed Tortoise show, mentions of prostitutes, mentions of cocaine, mentions of prostitutes with cocaine, a walk to my lovepad, a series of phonecalls to prostitutes with cocaine, my aggressive head-shaking to the idea of prostitutes with cocaine arriving at my place, copulation (at which point I was hickied up), a series of phonecalls from a weeping girl (at which point we ceased to copulate), then some talk about Kill Bill. He left. I'm sitting crossed legged eating red hots.
Hi.
My night just involved the following: whiskey, mutual laments on the missed Tortoise show, mentions of prostitutes, mentions of cocaine, mentions of prostitutes with cocaine, a walk to my lovepad, a series of phonecalls to prostitutes with cocaine, my aggressive head-shaking to the idea of prostitutes with cocaine arriving at my place, copulation (at which point I was hickied up), a series of phonecalls from a weeping girl (at which point we ceased to copulate), then some talk about Kill Bill. He left. I'm sitting crossed legged eating red hots.
Hi.
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And here's your chance.
I just answered to you on my journal because it was more easier to understand each other