Last night my cheeks were sunken and my lips were dripping blood, and I still managed to get hit on. One chick even told me I had a nice rack. Working at Spooky World is exhausting, but more fun than pouring coffee.
I will need more money eventually, but I haven't resorted to selling parts of my body yet. I'm thinking of modeling for art classes again. Right now let's just enjoy right now.
When I leave Boston for good, be it in a car, on a plane, on a train, on a boat, or in death, the filmmaker of my life will show a slow montage of me drinking beer and whiskey with different boys on balconies and porches. Playing over this montage should probably be "A Case of You," by Joni Mitchell. If that makes the tone too maudlin, we should probably just go with "Don't Stop Believin'," which pairs well with any montage.
Also, the other night I was out with my cousin in the Back Bay and two drunk dudes in Red Sox hats declared loudly that I was "hotter than Daisuke's wife," and asked if I wanted to share their pizza. Oh Boston, I do love you.