TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Oh! I think I wanna stick to house soonly, hiding under blanket with book and pen. My liver can't handle anymore latenight prowling. Last night at the Arrow bar, girls in torn dresses and teased 80s hair stalk and trip along the narrow bar counter, growwwwling at their audience. Clothes by mittenmaker. Avail at etc etc etc.
A young man slips a little white paper into my hand:GO HOME AND FUCK--ing make something!
Behind me, someone murmurs, This is so Chicks on Speed, while his companion dismisses, This woulda been exciting three years ago. My eye wanders to the heads tipped back; some faces reveal disgust, others curiousity.