Fuck it.

It occurred to me today, somewhat randomly.

“Fuck it, we can still make it.”



BRANDTRUEBOY can still take this shit.

We can have a good time with large crowds.

I could go back to NYC

And pick up where I left off with the graffiti.

I stood topless in front of the mirror while I thought this.

The ace bandage was off

My tits were out

I had Jules crying on my shoulder,

Pulling on me, prostrating herself.

“I need my money,” I told her. I put on my new yellow meshback baseball cap, purposely cocking it at a ridiculous angle.

The light in the room changed. My reflection darkened.

An Aphex Twin remix of St. Etienne was on the stereo in the other room. I felt hidden cameras filming me for the summerblockbuster.

(oh, blockbuster. Oh, block)

“I’m not going to give it back,” Jules said, teary eyed but defiant. “You won’t leave without your money.”

She was right, of course.

anti

raymi

jamie