Fitz would take care of me..his place would be warm and cozy and I could stretch out on the couch and watch the morning traffic report and he and I would chuckle smugly as we thought about those poor fuckers stuck in little sardine cans out on the highways and under the ground. On bridges, in elevators…queuing up and streaming out.
We’d be up in his phat pad high above it all…with annie lennox on the stereo and tea brewing and I’d have my poppyseed roll with butter and honey and he’d have his small dish of plain white yogurt, before slugging back his “vitamins”.
He'd flip open his laptop and start typing, while id get to zone out and make up stories about my innernets.
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