Children age into old men in front of my eyes. Four-foot-six juveniles becomes six-foot-four giants in just a few years. I peddle the same nostalgia to them, regardless of the era. Just scuff the brass and edge-painting a bit. Instantly vintage. I jingle keys to dopamine floodgates. Hippocampal and amygdalic prefrontal cortex washes. Socially endorsed drunkeness on sloppy gulps of pined-for youth. My stomach churns between every sale and pitch.
4:07 p.m. - 2018-02-12
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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