The Creatures Of Habit
Everyone walking around New York City is a ticking time bomb. A tightly wound, sleep-deprived, fiercely alive ticking time bomb, and they’ll claw your damn eyes out.
Everyone walking around New York City is a ticking time bomb. A tightly wound, sleep-deprived, fiercely alive ticking time bomb, and they’ll claw your damn eyes out.
“I have almost five months clean you know, and I’m doing the right thing now,” he says to no one, shuffling past a row of Christmas trees for sale, the butt of a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Ari and I walked into a bar with a powder-white alter.
That night at the bar, I was doing this thing where I pick the residual mascara – last night’s mascara – off my eyelashes as I thought back to everything that’s happened these past few months.