I woke up at 3 am last night and stayed awake for forty minutes because I felt the presence of Boris Karloff in my room, dressed in a weathered top hat and black cloak. (You know, ready to strangle me and take my body to do whatever.) <- (I don’t like saying “whatever” too often, but it’s ok once in a while.) My worry was falling asleep during the strangle and waking up locked in a crappy, pinewood coffin somewhere- a situation where you’d prefer to die all the way over being locked up with a slivery of possibility. You’re also aware that this pinewood box is not your final resting spot/place and that In time (no one knows how long) things will get much worse. As if waiting isn’t torture enough. Then I thought “How can i make him laugh?” Luckily I got tired so I turned on my side, my back to the wall so I’d have full view of anyone coming at me. Then I fell back asleep.

————————————

“I was always, i dunno, submissive,” She said. One long, well-chisled (chiseled?) leg crossing over the other. Her collar bone breathtakingly (long adverb) beautiful. “But there’s this whole bunch of girls who walk up to people, demand what they want and if they say, “no” or even “no, bitch” they just walk away unphased. I can’t do that.”

“Neither can I.” Cause when I admit that i want something I forget how to walk, almost.  (I didn’t say that – because you want to keep a conversation weird but not too weird.)

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