The Smiths Are Singing And

The Snowy Owl Has Eyes That Look Just Like Mine, Especially When It Widens Them. And While I Stand There, Staring At It, Lowering My Sunglasses, Something Unspoken Passes Between Me And The Bird - There's This Weird Kind Of Tension, A Bizarre Pressure, That Fuels The Following, Which Starts, Happens, Ends, Very Quickly.

Hip," I Murmur, Remembering Last Night, How I Lost It Completely In A Stall At Nell's---my Mouth Foaming, All I Could Think About Were Insects, Lots Of Insects, And Running At Pigeons, Foaming At The Mouth And Running At Pigeons.

The Numbing Lists Of Things You Were Supposed To Have As An American To Make You Happy, Which Ultimately, Of Course, Don't. Those Aren't The Things That Make You Happy.

Yes. Yes I Am. I Am A Completely Demented Misogynist.

Greed Is Good. Sex Is Easy. Youth Is Forever.