That I am the kind of woman who gets a book given to her in a bar. (That might have been because I was reading.) However, why men love bitches,seems pendandtic. Admitedly, I have a tendency to be kind and forgiving. But a book in a bar— am I that obvisious?
Aside from that life continues to persue it's course. Breifly, I scan faces I do not recognize. I take in posters and Coroner. The music is good, the posters worse. This event is not about an occurence. It is about agility.
That is a masked truth. I wanted to see if I was capable of having a drink alone. I still am. It's not difficult; for five bucks one can sit in a bar unmolested. Nothing but faces have changed. I leave by the front door, doubting if I'll back.
Glamour has been replaced. Flash:.. so mad, I got home and realized that the shit I bought off the street was crap. I thought it was M—, but he said he stayed home last night. I would cut my wrists if it weren't for my friends. Such a load of crap. Glamour is dirty and people are worse.
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