Lolita on the road

The flakes are light and harmless. Like confetti they dance as they fall. They twirl. And swirl. The road, the ground, the trees are all fixed in place but the sky’s axis may be flipped at will by a maniacal child playing snow globe, somewhere. Before the dots even have a chance to settle, to accumulate, he upsets it. Does it again. Lo, paws tucked neatly into her breast, lies on the dash, her punch drunk head bobbing, her dopey eyes trying hopelessly to follow the erratic yet delicate movements of these flat-white bugs on the other side of a thick pane of glass. She’s ten months old…

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These two shall pass

Basically, this is a story about karma—a concept I apparently don’t even need to believe in to be affected by. Let’s say, purely for the sake of example, I meet a girl. I’m pretty sure this girl likes me, which makes me feel good, but I’m also fairly certain I don’t feel the same way. I keep seeing her anyway. Then, let’s say purely for the sake of example, I meet another girl, with whom I fall instantly in love and at which point I stop talking to the first girl. I wonder how this will play out…

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Hi, I’m awkward

I watch through two way glass as she glides from cookie counter to espresso machine on beat with my headphones—shuffling between tracks from The XX and Beach House. When The XX plays, her and I are stuck in a fog of post devotion re-enchantment. Will the urgency of lust ever return?

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