TWO SEVENTY FOUR.
It was curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under the sky were also very much the same—everywhere, all over the world, hundreds or thousands of millions of people just like this, people ignorant of one another’s existence, held apart ...
TWO SEVENTY ONE.
We were on a bridge in Paris in the summer of 1985. It was overcast. We leaned against the smooth stone rail and stared at the green water rolling on below. Your world had cleaved and then it paused, waiting to rearrange itself around whatever you chose next. I wanted to run away from what ...
TWO SIXTY-SEVEN.
Everyone says they have changed Wants to change Why doesn’t anyone ever want to be the same?
TWO SIXTY-SIX.
Bones, sinking like stones, All that we fought for, Homes, places we’ve grown All of us are done for.
TWO SIXTY-FOUR.
We went swimming in the black water. The stars reflecting from the surface into our eyes like crystals. The phosphorescence glittered. Every movement an explosion of light, as if we were raising the sun from it’s sleep. I am cutting pieces of skin away from me, wondering which parts are you and which parts are ...
TWO SIXTY TWO.
End Product. Let us descend into the blind world is scratched onto the bathroom wall in neat, black cursive. It is late, or early, and the cocaine someone gave you earlier has started to wear off and you are slowly aching. A dark shadow quickly passes and you turn but there is nothing there and ...
TWO FIFTY EIGHT.
I see creativity as a dark parasite living inside. Cutting tunnels in the cells and messing up the wiring. Sometimes in the head. Sometimes in the guts. Sometimes it seeps through the hands, morphs itself into some kind of liquid and moulds something before the eyes; words you don’t remember writing, a photograph without the ...
TWO FIFTY SEVEN.
Marius Roosendaal creates something every day most days. I’m digging. msced.mariusroosendaal.com
TWO FIFTY THREE.
I don’t know what you feel like Ambushed on the road stole your gold You’re a rose and you’re laughing now. Everything that I own Starts to pile up like bones Like the walls of a prison Later on the bed Later on the bed Later on the bed Later on the bed I don’t ...
TWO THIRTY SEVEN.
Sometimes I feel it. Sometimes. An offshore breeze. A southerly swell. Hear the cracking of the camera frames. The distant memory of something lost slowly coming back to me, slowly been found. And as suddenly as it came, it’s gone. Just a shooting star. Fleeting. Fading. Into darkness. Into nothing. I want to capture something ...
TWO THIRTY SIX.
I gave away my 50mm lens for a while. I guess I forgot how nice it is to have around.
TWO THIRTY FIVE.
Love is like sky-diving from a plane at fourteen-thousand feet. But better.
TWO THIRTY THREE.
I held your hat in my hand. Picked at the stitches, knowing. Knowing that dusk was settling, the sun rolling over into the tomorrow that would be my silent exit. My quiet escape into the shadows, the lights from my memory guiding me, like a ship to a cement shore. I cried the first night. ...
TWO THIRTY ONE.
this is what designers do when their boyfriends are away….or maybe it’s just me.
TWO TWENTY NINE.
I woke up in the dark, not knowing where I was. The window panes were trembling, tree branches moaning in the wind. The haunting silence of morning, darkness fading into dawn. It felt like home in Winter…but it wasn’t.
TWO TWENTY EIGHT.
There isn’t anyone more deserving for the damn Oakley job than Luke Okay. Believe the hype and vote for him: CLICK HERE!
TWO TWENTY SEVEN.
Whether it’s the coffee or the cold, sometimes your heart just longs for Melbourne. Empty alleys, bleeding ink and secrets of midnight criminals. The sharp air that hits your lungs with a cold force, almost electric. Second-hand book stores tucked away in damp corners. An unpaid tram ticket to an unmade bed. A generation lost ...
TWO TWENTY SIX.
I felt your nails digging into my back as you were inside me. As if you were trying to cut a space for you to seep into. Trying to get under my skin. I bit your neck. Your face. Your bottom lip. Wanting to taste blood. As if maybe that would make it real. Make ...
TWO TWENTY TWO.
Maybe you’re just losing your creativity. I don’t think it’s that. Then what is it? I think I’m sick of humanity.
TWO TWELVE.
And sometimes I see me on my bedroom floor with you laughing. Waiting for the tide to drop waiting. Hear your alarm ringing. I found the polaroid but I lost the feeling. Thinking of you whispering the first time that I was killing you and me smiling unaware that it would be you who did ...
TWO ELEVEN.
The xx. This album is like going back in time and spending all Saturday night making out with the boy you secretly pined for all through high school. It’s sexy in a non-icky way. Like Barry White for people who didn’t lose their virginity until they were 22. 4 stars.
TWO ZERO NINE.
Self-indulgent contemplation as the days start filtering down. The end of the year starts swinging around. You can see Summer in Spring if you look hard enough. Another year down. Twenty years down. How many straws are there left to draw? You read the letters that say April in the corner and you almost wonder ...
TWO ZERO EIGHT.
Pointed planets out to you in the sky, as we lay. Heads tilted back, lost in the stars. Disjointed words making all the more sense in our reverie. Not even one feeling, nor want, nor lust. An emptiness. A purity of mind that made me believe. Made me believe in the shooting star we had ...
TWO ZERO SEVEN.
A REVIEW FOR SPOOK MAGAZINE On Thursday night Luxe Studios was transformed into a mecca for all Sydney art-lovers. Down one side of the contemporary space ran a wall, adorned with twelve portraits. Down the opposite side ran tables supporting free alcohol. In the middle stood sixty people, frequenting between both sides of the building, ...
TWO ZERO SIX.
“I feel very drawn to you. I feel like I want to keep sharing with you and experience more of life with you. You excite me, and it is not just because you are new. There is something else. I feel like your universe is vast with very little, on or only very faint, limitations ...
TWO ZERO FIVE.
Her body was throbbing with the remnants of cheap vodka and a DJ set that she couldn’t remember. The lady behind the desk stared at her with a look somewhere between sympathy and disgust – the kind shot at fat girls when they walk past in high-waisted jeans. Her eyes, thick with old clumpy mascara, ...
TWO ZERO ONE.
A sharp breeze hits skin. Winter clawing, reluctant to fade and step aside for Spring. Let’s sit in the car. Yeah. Kurt Cobain’s voice fills empty holes in the broken communication. The void of contemplation where mind and mouth work separately. Where speech struggles to keep up with thought. Where the physical reality is lost ...
TWO HUNDRED.
grinding hands of changing clocks marigolds and forget-me-nots seasons changing feelings fading feelings changing feet straying lucid dreams fraying seams seems seems visceral
ONE NINETY EIGHT.
I JUST WANT TO LET YOU ALL KNOW, THAT WHEN YOU ASK ME TO TEACH YOU HOW TO USE AN ADOBE PROGRAM YOU ACTUALLY MAKE ME WANT TO TAKE THE CORD OF MY MAC AND HANG MYSELF….
ONE NINETY SEVEN.
It is sometime around midnight on a Thursday, and we are whispering because everyone is asleep. We are drinking white wine that is very warm and smoking cigarettes that are very hot. You are talking about someone who talks too much about writing and my hearing is fading in and out because I am vaguely ...
ONE NINETY FIVE.
You never cease to amaze me Ang. The erratic nature that your life seems to possess. You never stop you never slow, I can never keep up. I love that about you, your story expands quicker than ice over a lake in -40 degrees. You’re here and then you are there, his story with you has begun no ...
ONE NINETY THREE.
Capricorn, Virgo is one of your very best matches and one that very often has soulmate potential. Astrologically speaking, it’s difficult to find a better match between two signs than the one created when Capricorn pairs up with Virgo. Your dispositions are similar enough that you’ll intrinsically understand each other, yet different enough to always be ...
ONE NINETY ONE.
Inspiration is one thing. To steal is another. Thieving someone’s writing is a self-admitted “I ain’t original”. It stems from a feeling of inadequacy and the petty desire to impress. To be blunt: I know you’re reading this you fucking slag and if you post any more of my shit on your blog and claim ...
ONE NINETY.
Yesterday I listened to Justice on repeat and covered a canvas with a naked girl. A girl who didn’t quite know whether she was Catholic or not. Then I ran out of paint. The surf was terrible. The clothes on the line weren’t drying and I started reading American Psycho again. I want to stab ...
ONE EIGHTY NINE.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzkmNPGG4qk] Maybe I could write something to persuade you. Or maybe you could just believe me when I said it was dope and click the fucking thing.
ONE EIGHTY SIX.
He had an immediate air of confidence and walked with a subtle arrogance – as if his ego was a light that he didn’t know whether to flick on or off. He ordered drinks without asking for my preference because he had that sense of the world that made him think he was right about ...
ONE EIGHTY FIVE.
You started getting moody on me pretty soon we’d argue And the ruder you got the more beautiful you got to me And who woulda even knew that who woulda even thought possibly Cupid could shoot another one of them God damn darts at me
ONE EIGHTY TWO.
Maybe I should have been a lawyer. I have the persuasive skills of a bank merchant and the reasoning of a car salesman. These combined have only been put to use convincing friends into believing that half a sack of goon through a beer bong is a great plan for a Sunday eve. And yes, ...
ONE EIGHTY ONE.
I walked up to her boyfriend and said: ‘Yo man. You’re girlfriend is amazing…like…sooo amazzinnggg’ I had a fairly decent grip on his shoulders – as if I was trying to shake the fact into him. That was the first time I met her. I don’t remember any of it because I’d washed down 2 ...
ONE EIGHTY.
I hate the idea of promoting consumerism or trying to advertise, but I think everyone should get their hands on the latest issue of Surfing World – if only for the Sam McIntosh article by Doherty. Steal it from your mate, secretly read it in the newsagent, kill someone. Whatever road of acquisition you choose ...
ONE SEVENTY EIGHT.
And he said I think you should stay in bed, babe. It’s 2am. And she thought Somewhere out there, is a man who will let me play my piano whenever I damn well please.
ONE SEVENTY SIX.
All addiction comes through void. Fill a hole with enough shit, and you expect the fucker to subside. Cocaine. Coffee. Sex. Money. It’s all the same when you really stop and think about it. + Never seen it break like that before – never seen it since. It was at maybe one or two. Dark ...
ONE SEVENTY THREE.
CP posted a blog about her day at Good Vibes. A nice little tale of amphetamines and sunshine. It made me remember my own Good Vibes experience, which fell short in a recount of bliss. Technically, I paid 100 bones to be stalked. Awesome.
ONE SEVENTY TWO.
Today began as a day like any other. I bypassed a terribly small surf for coffee and cereal and the last chapter of a very good book. There was nothing special that separated it and maybe the normality of it was what was so deceiving. At 2:07pm I was offered a job. In Los Angeles. ...
ONE SEVENTY.
My boss had offered me the day off. In fifteen minutes I had booked a plane ticket. Some call it spontaneity. I just call it living. I had learnt through my short list of travels, that you could feel each city just by walking the pavements. Melbourne was how my fifteen year old self had ...
ONE SIXTY EIGHT.
shout-out to the six people who have messaged me telling me to update seekingcharlie. dedication.
ONE SIXTY FIVE.
AN INTERVIEW FOR SPOOK MAG. + You placed your pupils here to read about something. Maybe something that would make you smile. Maybe something that would dampen your panties a little. But I ain’t gonna kid ya. All you’re going to get from reading this is a gut full of grief. You’re gonna feel angry. ...
ONE SIXTY FOUR.
10:43pmCaitlin i don’t get people what happened to all the great loves i’ve read about and been designed to believe are real 10:44pmMe they were written for a different world honey a different time 10:45pmCaitlin but why hollywood designs us to believe he’s out there what if he’s not? 10:46pmMe you believe in hollywood ? ...
ONE SIXTY THREE.
It ain’t rocket science, honey. RVCA = VISION WITHOUT FINANCIAL BACKING. BILLABONG = FINANCIAL BACKING. RVCA + BILLABONG = VISION WITH FINANCIAL BACKING. Billabong WON’T change RVCA’s image, because that would be fucking stupid (which BB isn’t). Look to Nixon for proof – still producing tidy watches etc, all under the BB blanket. It IS ...
ONE SIXTY TWO.
A SELF-ABSORBED REVIEW OF THE DRIFTWOOD DRONES. They were meant to start at ten. It was thirty-four minutes after ten, and I was drinking out of a teapot in World Bar waiting. I couldn’t be sure on the alcohol content in the teapot, but combined with the previous bottle of red, I was drunk. He ...
ONE SIXTY ONE.
Four girls in Brazilian bikinis, surfing empty Iluka in Summer. Sometimes I think I dreamt that day. Because how did we have such perfect surf all to ourselves? It was a Tuesday, and we had flagged school. And every wave we caught, we had to make a fucked up seal noise to each other. There ...
ONE SIXTY.
luke okay at tamarama/ maybe one of the raddest humans i have ever met/ but he’s still a fucking lemon/ hahahaha/
ONE FIFTY NINE.
Quite the surprise for one to open their internet bank account on a friday morning and realise that they were fourty-five grand richer – had I done acid last night, unaware? Maybe a cocaine trip to a Star City poker table? Fuck, I couldn’t even be sure. For a solid seventeen minutes, I contemplated catching ...
ONE FIFTY SEVEN.
I was sitting at a table in an apartment in Cronulla, wondering why it always worked out, that the more alcohol I drank, the better I played cards. I was really fucking drunk and there was a phone call and there was a girl crying, and there was something about a boy and something about ...
ONE FIFTY SIX.
For Anders. Dusk was a curtain closing on the horizon. That is but one sure certainty – if not the only one. For to recall and recount and rewrite, maybe I would not be entirely accurate or truthful. And how would you ever know what the truth was, to argue against it? I could write ...
ONE FIFTY TWO.
And I know that you’re a sucker/ for anything acoustic/ But when I say let’s keep in touch/ I really mean I wish that you’d grow up/ This is the first song for your mixtape/ It’s short just like your temper/ but somewhat golden like the afternoons we used to spend/ before you got too cool/
ONE FIFTY ONE.
so matty dee owns massesmasses.com that i sometimes write for/ and today he totally got to interview chuck bass/ fuck my fucking life/
ONE FORTY NINE.
It was cold and very late. Or early? Sometime around 1am. You were sleeping. And me being me, I was not. I went to get water, and as I got back under the covers you woke. We whispered a little. Small conversation bereft of any real substance. Why can’t you sleep? Oh, I don’t sleep ...
ONE FORTY EIGHT.
two photos/ one rectangle/ one circle/ a line/ and a fight club quote/ five minutes of my life gone/
ONE FORTY SEVEN.
pretty much what the surf was like today/ small, fun and freaking cold./ but seriously/ how rad is alaska!!/
ONE FORTY SIX.
11th commandment: thou shalt not speak of how good bruns bar was breaking, to those who no longer live there.
ONE FORTY FIVE.
It has something to do with the neurons in the brain. And that they are far too overly active for their own good. It is a well-documented illness among creative people, writers in particular. A restless mind, over-analysing small trivialities of meaningless and destroying any hope of a regular sleeping pattern. Most often it is ...
ONE FORTY THREE.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7aOWIFgIZQ] this would be the track to my life/ by far, my fav song/
ONE FORTY.
Hi Ang, I am having alot of trouble manipulating graphics. I am designing in Paint. Do you have any suggestions? Yours Sincerely Karen. Hi Karen, Paint? I suggest you neck yourself. Kind Regards A
ONE THIRTY EIGHT.
I had money and time and I figured both things always come in handy when one wants to get lost, although often half the fun comes from having none of either – nothing is more of an adventure than an empty pocket. I got lost anyway. I walked long streets with my neck tilted back, ...
ONE THIRTY SIX.
dion: you still seeing that guy? A: oh no silly. that’s been over for a while. dion: good. he sounded mentally fucked. A: ha. you have no idea.
ONE THIRTY FIVE.
what are you designing today? a porn site. you’re fucking kidding. honey, i really ain’t.
ONE THIRTY FOUR.
this is war/ every line is about/ who i don’t wanna write about anymore/ hope you come down with something/ they can’t diagnose/ don’t have the cure for/ holding on to your grudge/ oh its so hard to have someone to love/ and keeping quiet is hard/ cause you cant keep a secret/ if it ...
ONE THIRTY THREE.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1n9kMaws-Y] this guy should get the coin/ so close/
ONE THIRTY.
and then i got asked to do my dream interview/ and i realised i gotta start making some new dreams/ because everything i wrote down two years ago/ has already came true/ fuck/ yes/ lords of dogtown!/
ONE TWENTY NINE
mike do i have an innocent face? huh? i was talking to that guy and he told me i had an innocent face. ang, you have the most uninnocent face of anyone i have ever met. what about if i smile like this? …..you’re pure fucking evil.
ONE TWENTY EIGHT.
an ad i designed for spook magazine/ to be featured in the latest renegades empire magazine/
ONE TWENTY SIX.
It was somewhere near the beginning. You had only stayed a few nights. Maybe three or four. My light bulb had blown then. And we were laying in bed, talking by candlelight. You kept complaining about the cold and I asked if you would come swimming in the ocean baths with me. The water was ...
ONE TWENTY FOUR.
what do you want? what do you mean what do i want? well it seems like you’re always thinking about something. im not thinking about anything. then why can’t you sleep? because im thinking about everything.
ONE TWENTY THREE.
all im going to say is…/ these were the worst photos i took/ the rest were sold/ just imagine/
ONE TWENTY TWO
last night i came home with twenty two bones in my pocket/ and a piece of paper with a phone number/ there is no name/ i have just written ‘badass’ next to it/ vodka, you’re fucking killing me/
ONE TWENTY ONE
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLLlSDpdPdE] id ravish to this song/
ONE TWENTY.
i do know one thing though/ bitches they come they go/ saturday through sunday, monday/ monday through sunday/ yo/
ONE HUNDRED + EIGHTEEN.
dam you jed for letting me sync my iphone to your itunes/ i now talk like a legit gangster/
ONE HUNDRED + SEVENTEEN.
just when i think i’ve lost all fucking faith/ frank chimero, i don’t know who the fuck you are/ but i want to meet more people like you/ work.frankchimero.com
ONE HUNDRED + SIXTEEN.
[vimeo 12164728] home boys get freaky/ ang spends solid half hour crying with laughter at dj/ “im not racist”/ classic/
ONE HUNDRED + FOURTEEN.
yeah dad i got another parking fine. for fuck’s sake ang. how many times do you think i can talk your way out of it? dude, the surf was amazing! you’re inability to park in the right fucking places is amazing.
ONE HUNDRED + THIRTEEN.
buy my 70-200mm/2.8 ang ?? fuck yes! how much? $1200? frothing! you shoot canon don’t you? FML !
ONE HUNDRED + TWELVE.
its unforgivable when melbourne is like this/ horrible and overcast/ not quite cold enough/ yet a bite still reigns/ somehow something dirty lingers/ something prods and pokes and fools me into thinking/ i’m not satisfied/ that i’m waiting for something/ i’m not/ i’m not one of those millions that feels like they’re waiting for their ...
ONE HUNDRED + TEN.
if you run a blog through wordpress/ you can see the sites that people have come to your blog from/ you can even see what people have googled to get to your site/ today one of you sick fucks googled ‘seventy year old horny ladies’/ sure enough, if you type that shit in google/ seekingcharlie ...
ONE HUNDRED + SIX.
so what great vision is this/ to sail amongst the vast indifference/ accept a trail to hollow senses/ where only tragedy breaks the numbness/ so what great epiphany, will spell out beneath my feet?/ chain my wrists and admit defeat/ imprisoned by ‘the clarity’/ so is this desitny, a doubtful life, feeling empty?/ worst of ...
ONE HUNDRED + TWO.
lindsay turner sends me daily links of inspiration/ they always go down well with coffee and an open mind/ [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SmGhRDgvhw&feature=player_embedded]
ONE HUNDRED.
i know what they don’t wanna tell you/ just hope you’re heaven-sent/ and you’re hell-proof/ i walk up in the world/ and cut the lights off/ and confidence is a stain/ they can’t wipe off/ my word is my pride/ but wisdom is bleak/ and that’s a word from the wise/ served to survive/ murdered ...
NINETY-NINE.
i buy new journals all the time/ telling myself that i gotta start keeping one/ i hold out for a few days/ then i tear most of the shit out/ and give it a home in a nearby bin/ i found this in one/ It is a miserable day on the Gold Coast. You are ...
NINETY-EIGHT.
so about 70 posts ago, i chucked up some photos/ i’ve searched the rusty team so many times, trying to work out who the fuck it was i was shooting/ turns out its matt chapel!/ [vimeo 11864847] nineteen
NINETY-SIX.
‘yo ang, you totally haven’t sent anything in for the mag?’ ‘maybe because i think you’re mag is fucking boring’
NINETY-FIVE.
god my fingers burn/ now when i think of touching your hair / you have changed so much that i dont know/ if i can call you and tell you i care/
NINETY-TWO.
7:52pmMia ahahahaha i want to be a squirrel i love your life Me i want to be some kind of bird fly the world 7:53pmMia yeah. albatross are my fav, but they partner for life it would be terrible to have ur partner die they just die of broken hearts Me I think i am ...
NINETY-ONE.
“When I am out among people I am uncomfortable. They speak and have enthusiasms that are not a part of me. And yet it is when I am with them that I feel strongest. I get this idea: if they can exist on just these fragments of things, then I can exist too. But it ...
NINETY-ONE.
i ain’t one for preachin’/ but this mag is easily one of the best designed/ like, ever!/ www.lodownmagazine.com
NINETY.
it is truly beautiful. the air is cold and in the mornings the light hits the tiny waves so the spray glitters perfectly. it is impossible to ride these waves, yet people try. mostly because they are dedicated and stupid and they do not have images of iluka in their heads. the coffee is cheap ...
EIGHTY-FOUR.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ns0-1qI-p2M] Wade Goodall might have been bred on the Sunshine Coast. He might have liked it until he got too big for the waves. He might be homeless. His possessions might be in a shed. He might have slept at his parents’ house last night. He might have spent some time in the States. He ...
EIGHTY-TWO.
this is my most favourite blog ever/ (and i ain’t easily impressed)/ blake makes killer videos/ nanda makes killer drawings of hot naked girls/ be inspired/ kidswithtalons.com
SEVENTY-EIGHT.
if anyone has a left medium churchill fin that they want to give me/ that would be fucking dope/
SEVENTY-SEVEN.
you probably shouldn’t skate the billabong mini-ramp in the rain/ i think my wrist is broken in seven places/
SEVENTY-SIX.
I ran into Chase Burns at Splendour, before I was too fucked up to see. He was wearing black straight legs and a beanie, but he walked with a certain style that made even his leopard-print inspired shirt look decent. I guess it was the Melbourne in his veins. Two weeks later, Chase wrote me ...
SEVENTY-FIVE.
i’d write something here/ but i know you’d see/ you’ve even taken/ my own fucking blog from me/
SEVENTY-THREE.
I don’t understand why Mick Fanning is so pissed at Chas Smith for calling him boring. Mick Fanning IS boring.
SIXTY-EIGHT.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asNbeOBZaTs&feature=related] you’re thinking ‘who the fuck is this kid?’/ his name is andy/ he has a growth-hormone condition/ he is not a kid/ he is old/ he is a comedian/ and he is my hero/
SIXTY-FIVE.
mike jennings is one of my most favourite humans/ he is a writer/ he is from melbourne/ he has good hair/ this is our new side project/ liketotesdef.wordpress.com
SIXTY-ONE.
wrote more postcards than hooks/ i read more maps than books/ feel like every chance to leave/ is another chance i should’ve took/ every minute is a mile/ i’ve never felt so hollow/ i’m an old abandoned church/ with broken pews and empty aisles/ – brand new
FIFTY-FOUR.
Instinct told me to go there. I took all my clothes and my board. There were too many magazines and books to bring them all. I grabbed all the Monster Children’s and Vanity Fair’s. Some Hemingway too. I didn’t even know who Bukowski was yet. At half-way I stopped and slept. I wanted to put ...
FORTY-SIX.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w&feature=player_embedded] Ok Go always have the best music vids/
FORTY-FOUR.
putting a polaroid border on it/ does NOT make it a fucking polaroid/ putting a lomo filter on a digital shot/ does NOT make it 35mm fucking film/ dude, we can tell it’s not real!/ end rant/
TWENTY-THREE.
this is part of a layout i designed for a mag/ and that’s actually my phone/ it fell out of hannah’s car window/ i think it gives it character/
TWENTY-ONE.
Neverland, we meet again. It is not as crowded. But still crowded. There is no waiting in lines. The empty street outside is wet and it disappears as the club begins. The bass is very, very loud and the walls reverberate but the sound is soon lost in the expectant faces. Everyone drinks slowly and ...
EIGHT.
With a new year dawning, the holidays mean different things for different people. For the stupid it is to reunite with family and make resolutions they actually believe they’ll stick to. For the smart it is to forget the last year of everyone you fucked and everything you fucked up. January surf is always onshore ...
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