just write. The idea has got to be found somewhere in the words which flow from fingers ill used to the creative keyboard process. I’ve been drawing a lot.
Its kinda hard to sit down and write. I’ve had my cigarette, had my coffee. I’m still having it, in fact. Vanilla latté. I live in the basement of my building, under neighbors, a deli, a phone store, and a coffee shop. The sickly sweet smell of half-baked bread greets my nose each morning, and again around midday. I could never go into that deli. The coffee shop is a whole other story. My super is also the manager, so I get a discount on drinks. A whole quarter. yippie.
What? i tried to quit last night. That damn gum tastes like shit. There’s that feeling in my throat like I need to cough, but there’s nothing actually there. Fucking gross. Bought a pack this morning. I guess... I’ll cut down a whole lot. I’ve said that before. Then again I’ve done that before. Shit, maybe I can stick to it this time.
My upstairs neighbor listens to metal. I can hear it though the ceiling.
Boom boom boom boom.