and if she was ever less than a mountain i would cease to exist. so instead i climbed up on the rooftop of this desertland and remembered the afterglow...and we had said that it wasnt so fucking pretty like they all wanted it to be. that it wasnt so fucking amazing. and that this city has its curses and blows and women who fuck for money and get labeled "WHORE" ........this fucking city with its culturedeath and zero gravity for artfaeries became air which became house which is like home and there is no place like home...and days later i can still see the blue ringer on your bettie page shirt.