May and June.
The absence of the usual. Undergrounded. Suspended in another reality to lament. How to find meaning in the awful, the absurd, the uncalled for, the necessity.
I’m sick with me. Down for the count. Sick and dumb. Because if you think one way, thinking another doesn’t happen.
I am homesick for me. I’m here feasting on that royal burger, twisting the night away and knowing the difference between a $5 milkshake and bullshit.
Love you Quentin.