I Had A Broken Tooth And You Had A Shitty Car That Sang At Certain Speeds. I Was Holding My Bleeding

I had a broken tooth and you had a shitty car that sang at certain speeds. I was holding my bleeding mouth but we were all laughing. You were the only one who was worried. Speeding to the doctor with your hands at ten and two, sending me the occasional look and asking if it hurts, does it hurt.

All the memories of you do.

As an adult you must cultivate the skill of “Gross! Oh, well. Not my business.”

I guess the reason all that Backrooms stuff has never really fazed me is because I worked in on-site networking support for a while, and literally every city's downtown district is just Like That once you get off the beaten path. Not just the really big cities, either; the one I'm currently living in has a population of less than 250 000 – metro area included – and a downtown area about six blocks across, and the service corridors still manage to do some House of Leaves shit. At one point I was trying to map the route of a misbehaving network cable, started out in a shopping mall parking garage, and ended up surfacing in the basement of the casino across the street. Totally unsecured – apparently neither the mall's administration nor the casino's managers knew that particular service corridor existed.

Hey, no homo, but I am sitting on the broken swing set out back in the perfect, quiet, 2:00am blackness and picturing the softness of your voice and the darkness of your eyes with such perfect and terrible clarity that it feels like I'm choking on my own heartbeat.

can anyone find me that mesopotamian clay tablet telling you to marry a party girl because she'll bring you joy

every time I think about my gender I get confused so I simply stopped thinking about it. it is not my problem