Saturday, January 19, 2013

BLACK GIRLS IN SKIRTS

"That's not racist. How is that racist?"

"You wouldn't say that to a black person, would you? Or you're not gonna Facebook something like that."

"Yeah, no. But it's true, right? I don't mean they look bad or anything, it's just that for some reason, it just, I don't know, it just doesn't look right, ya know?"

"I don't know, man, I've never really thought about it... So, dude, like what are you gonna do? I mean, are you making any money here?"

"Fuck, man, if we didn't have savings, we would've already had to move in with my in-laws. I don't know, man. I feel like I'm like flying through space in a goddamn space capsule or something. I don't know what to do. It's scary, man. I just get worse and worse. You know, I just... I don't know, if I didn't have kids..."

"I'm telling you, man, you gotta write. You gotta make the time to write. It really is your only salvation."

"There's no salvation, especially in writing. Writing's a one way ticket to fucking hell. I'm starting to wonder if I'm not really a writer at all. Maybe this is just how it feels, ya know? Maybe I'm just supposed to live with this shit?... There's this dude that came in the other day. I don't know his name. It's embarrassing, man, I don't know anyone's name. I think he's friends with that dude, you know that dude that looks like Perry Farrell."

"Oh, man, I can't STAND that fucking guy!"

"He really is the worst fucking piece of shit in this whole fucking town. I hate that fucker more than that fucking prick that fell down the stairs that time. I had to kick him out again the other day. He's not allowed in here anymore."

"Yeah, he's a fuckin' asshole."

"They're all a bunch of fuckin' assholes. I can barely stand the ones that I like."

"(Haha) I don't know how you do it, man."

"Me neither. Anyway, this guy, he comes in every now and then. He's alright I guess. But all he talks about is writing. I guess he's read some of my shit on my blog."

"Does he like it?"

"I don't know, he never said. Probably not. He works at some publishing company. He went to the Iowa school and shit. He's always naming all these writers I've never even heard of."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, he's young, mid-twenties maybe. He's a nice guy, you know. He's pretty funny. But you can just tell he hasn't really lived. To me, in order to write, to REALLY write, you know, you have to have been dragged through life. It's gotta almost be like a form of suicide."

"Yeah, well..."

"But anyway, he's got a few short stories out in this online magazine. I told him I'd check 'em out."

"Didja?"

"Yeah. I read 'em this morning. He's good, man. I mean, like he's REALLY fucking good!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. But fuck, man, writing's the easy part."

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