Words to live by. (What do you think happened to it after the trial.)
If you could switch places with (insert name) for a day, what would you do?
The man who never became someone else. I’d go back to New Orleans.
// Neil Gaiman. I’d reread what I’d written the day before, and wander around in whatever perfectly content horror feels like.
Choose one thing on your fridge and tell the story behind it.
A receipt for nineteen cans of paint and a sundress. Give me your interpretation of the evidence.
// A photoshopped penguin drinking ice-tea under a sun umbrella. Bought as a magnet from a college bookstore to accurately represent my sobriety life at the time.
Surprise, and a publication to prop up the crumbling remnants of any credibility erroneously associated with your methods.
Let me know when it’s my turn to be the Chesapeake Ripper.
I never found trees particularly conducive to kissing.
Describe the scent of your shampoo.
Bracingly institutional.
Describe the scent of your shampoo.
Hardcover or softcover?
First thing you wash in the shower?
Most played song on your iPod/iTunes?
What’s the last thing you ate?
Favorite chapstick flavor?
Like vapidity and tedium holding hands.
If you’re so curious, I can recommend a—conducive psychiatrist.
Initially. Panic. Being responsible for another living creature, even a dog, is a strange thing. But I’d say we got over it.
Like being accepted.
