THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
There's a group of girls smoking cigarettes on the street below my apartment window as ambulance after ambulance drives by.
I smell like stain remover, I am covered in paint, my throat is sore and my back is bent. I've drunk so much coffee I can't tell whether my eyes are open or closed.
I remember standing in the fog after The Jesus and Mary Chain and not being able to hear a single thing.