I was going to tell you all a story my great-grandmother told me about how she was out skipping one day when she was 12 and her friends came running up to her to tell her that they just heard on the radio that the Titanic had sunk just off the coast. But I can’t even tell the story because I’m sick of everyone trying to milk a hundred-year-old tragedy right to the last drop. Not sick in a more-morally-righteous way, but in a fatigued, “who really gives a shit anymore?” sort of way. Literally every way you turn your head there’s a Titanic memorial or a Titanic ‘celebration’ or some other shitty event. I don’t know.
"The kind of people I know now don’t have barbecues, Mama. They stand up alone at nights in small rooms and eat cold weenies. My so-called friends are bums. Many of them are nothing but rats. They spread T.B. and use dirty language. They’re wife-beaters and window peepers and night crawlers and dope fiends. They have running sores on the backs of their hands that never heal. They peer up from cracks in the floor with their small red eyes and wait for chances."Ask me stuff
Page 1 of 1