Thursday, July 7, 2011

This is why I eat french fries.

Its all cigarette butts, ash, dead flowers in vases and a deplorable (deplorable?) sense of underwhelming disappointment; it's a showcase of something surprisingly sudden: a flash of brilliance in an ordinary setting, the best song every written on a dusty, georgian road or the unissued vows of two lovers who'll only know friendship in each other.

This is why I eat greasy french fries.

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