Goofy Got Wasted

Was there a girl of 21? A blonde, I never learned her name. I asked her to repeat it, and it escaped my mind again. Her mother wanted to speak to me, she was pleading with me. She brought up how young her daughter was. Oh, I thought she was younger, I replied, suddenly interested. The girl looked at me and came to. She called a cab.

She asked for my cell number. I gave it, didn't ask for hers. I knew I didn't stand a chance with her. She said I was a nice guy and closed the door.

A week later, while cleaning the flat, I found a black scarf. She had left it on the couch. I was amazed that she had really existed, entered the apartment, taken something off. I pressed my face against the wool. There wasn't much of a scent left. Regardless, the scarf saved my day.

The next day, it enforced my sense of utter failure in every field I'd tried my hand at, and in those I hadn't tried and wouldn't try to boot - for me, a failure was as certain as the dusk that wrapped each day in its toxic embrace. I liked the dusk. It informed everybody that soon we could all be put to sleep.

Am I a pedophile now?

Disneyland Nazi Parents Bring Me Down

I was supposed to talk about something else, something serious. Well, I'm out of words.

IED is what I need, but I can't improvise.