Today's writing

There is a quality of feeling between two people when they just fit. You can either talk or fall into silence, as they were doing in the moment, her short legs swinging against the barstool in a tuneless beat. There is a companionability there that cannot be denied, even – especially – when you want to do exactly that.

It is a building, intractable. Knock it down and something will crop up in its place. It is that monster, that Nosferatu with the Romanian lust for blood.

What the fuck was she doing here? A grown woman with a kid. Shouldn’t she be home taking care of Lennon, washing a dish or two, fucking her husband? Instead she was out with the rest of the amateur alkies talking shit she barely understood.