Saturday sick in SoHo.
Have fun, bitches come! The sum of my advise to Becca on what to do with Jasmin. The ghost ate my duffel, that’s how Helen’s starting her free write. We’re at the film forum lobby in SoHo, an hour early because it’s cold. I want to sneak into another film in the meantime but the theatre’s city indie, I’m sick, and Helen’s not quite that type of woman. Well she is but she’s on her period, periodically kissing me spontaneously all through SoHo, paying back in affection that went milk carton missing. This past week resulting in waterpark tears in Doris buying m drinks last night and I need to be less annoying. I need to have sex, make love, start an army, skate through a mall, pay a set, punch a hole through my cock, get it pierced, but whatever. I’m just sick, Michelle’s a bitch so we’re staying at Gus’s this weekend. It’s Saturday meaning I was looking forward all week to meet Hannah the hiring manager at Barbes where I want to work but you know what? I’m sick now and she works just Saturday and Sundays. So here we are; Helen’s sneezing and my backpack has sour sweedish fish and salt & vinegar chips we all 3 slept on Gus’s bed last night,, and will again, tonight, this time with toothbrushes. I might opt for the floor cause for the final time I’m sick in SoHo. Back to the point I was getting at, Helen’s the kind of girl sneaking in two alcoholic kombucha drinks for our personal date premiere of Beanpole. -Polecat