In Los Angeles, it is slightly more difficult to justify ego through education and occupation—not many people seem to care very much about where you went to school or what you do.
I’m supposed to curse your name, blame you for my problematic summer and my fear of driving to fast. I’m supposed to instinctually flinch when people yell and label myself a survivor of you.
I won’t sit by my phone hoping you’ll text. Because I’ll go ahead and text you. Even when I say I’m not going to. Even when I say I don’t care and you’re just another dude who kissed me outside a bar.
How To Date A Bartender is a step-by-step guide on how to score a date with the bartender of your dreams.
I was super paranoid that this machine allowed her to read my mind and was even more freaked out when she looked at me after I thought this and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not reading your mind.”
Manhattan Beach Pier for a quiet, romantic evening to watch the sunset.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend you don’t turn my stomach into a butterfly mortuary, that they flew around so fast and frantic, all of them died. I’m a graveyard of everything I’ve ever said to you.
Mouths moving with any words we can fit inside them. Until they aren’t. Until our mouths are done talking. Until they’ve found other body parts to discover.
Is there a coverup going on? Was this thing a real UFO?
I moved away from the epicenter of sh*tty apartments and dollar slices known as New York to a faraway, much flakier place called Los Angeles.