james bought me a tub of valentines day candy, to consume in pancreas-destroying quantities when i decide to quit smoking…
so i took some outside with me to have with my cigarette. i met a guy named steve. i asked him for a light and he asked me what i did. i said work and school, history major, going into psych though. he said “yeah, awesome, pickton, try and get in that guy’s head.” yes, i read the news all day long, been seeing alot of that guy. “aw, i love that stuff man, so cool! i’m a total csi junky, i could watch that show any time of day, man.”
he said goodbye (rather abruptly, actually) and i was left thinking two things:
shouldn’t he wait until he’s already lured me back to his pig farm to tell me these things, and…
why must my brain always associate the phrase “who’s your daddy?” with every stranger named steve i meet? why, i ask you, does it never fail?
You meet stangers named steve often enought to ask about your brain’s reaction? I can count on one hand the number of steve’s i’ve met.
And hey, you wondering why he didn’t wait to lure you back to the pig farm sure sounds like you getting into the head of the serial killer. I had to look the Pickton thing up, there isn’t any coverage of it here in the US.
I thought of something today, how come no one cooks with tobacco?