TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
08.04.02, sunday pre-dawn
Sometimes I can't tell if I like the people here in the City, especially when I go to clubs or bars. Sometimes they seem very Victorian. Very prudish, like they're looking behind invisible fans. Not sexy, only brittle-glamourous. Those are the times I want to run to a donut shop, notebook in hand, to scribble notes for my next short story while drinking burnt coffee, fingers maple-sticky. Why be stuck-up over sugar twists and cinnamon buns, huh? Glazed or powdered is the question at this time of night, this my-kinda-place...