Bottle
Shit, I think I’m getting addicted.
Not to her, to this stupid little box I’m talking in to. Shit, maybe to her too. There’s something about that crazy broad.
Anyway, talking like this clears the mind, clears the head. It’s fuckin’ weird. I guess I see why those Catholics like talking in that box to their priest.
Enough about that.
Shit, that poor Karen. No wonder she’s so fucked up. It seems her ex is a complete fucking loony toon. I think she got through most of my flask before my goddamn phone rang again, too. I know I would have ended up with her sobbing into me again if Twist hadn’t called.
I’m not cut out for all this comforting shit. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Give me a jaw to break, a nose to smash, an engine to pull apart - I’m your man. Getting a woman to stop crying though? Man, I don’t know how to do that shit.
Usually I wonder what’s up with all the emotional bullshit women put out. Surely they take it too far. But Crazy Eyes? She’s seen some fucked up shit in her day, so I guess I understand why she’s so emotional.
The rest of them bitches out there in the world though?
Fucked if I know.