twenty-six june
seven : twenty-eight p.m.

i miss february, those last few days of january. our entire beginning, a perfect screenplay, shy and shivering in the cold and dark, they always recognise you at that restaurant, they knew before i did. glass after glass, that terrible neighborhood of yours, how you could hear midnight freight trains passing through the city if the wind was right, the shins and tom waits and galaxie 500, i wish we'd never left that room.