i intentionally wrote it out to be an illegible mess. you wanted me to write you letters, but i'd rather lose your address and forget that we'd ever met, and what did or did not occur. sitting in the station, it's all a blur of dancehall hips, pretentious quips, a boxer's bob and weave. here's the kicker of the whole shebang: you're in debt and completely fooled that you can look into the mirror and objectively rank your wounds. sewing circles are not solely based in trades of cloth: there are spinsters all around here taking notes, reporting on us as information travels faster in the modern age, as our days are crawling by so slowly.
-- death cab for cutie, information travels faster happy whatever-holiday-it-is-now.
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