we'd lay there for hours, and december would roll on by.
after months of the dreaded overhaul, the psychoanalysis,
my co worker deems me as "bipolar"
I drift off, yet again, in a strangers bed, living vicariously through someone I've never even met.
How does one afford equipment, space and sound like this?
This month is more like the movies then anything, to me.
I'm sitting back, attempting to relax, letting the dialogue reign.
he sleeps, soundly.
from open concept kitchen walls to wood shafts and the, on site, laundry.
the million dollar mixer.
this place is a prison.
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