dear god, i fucked that man again. he, breathing his heavy breaths in his pretend sleep in that twin sized bed. hell no; he can’t stay in tonight.
cold crowns my sweaty head as i fish out the two last cans of blue ribbon chilling in the vegetable crisper. i am the laureate of shit.
now, i hear him calling me by the fake name i gave him a week ago. he will demand that i blast that AC and after he downs that pale gold drink, i am so going to tell him he needs to go. i so will. i really will.