17.06.06 - 2:13 p.m.
i heard that you were moving and i was confounded. your relationship with this place is parasitic; you are a fixture: a tick on the leg of this, the west coast's northernmost city. your gain isn't blood but girls who eventually wise up -- notice your receding hairline and find your pop culture references less and less pertinent -- and move away. the free weed isn't enough to keep them. you've cultivated a personality; you are twenty-one at twenty-five or six. you'll still be twenty-one at thirty but when you called me a bitch in jest over lunch i gasped; i didn't swoon; it wasn't cute.