Drunk at the airport with no other drunk.
Tequila makes me hyper and passionate and dreaming.
I want to make a friend on the plane it would really make things better.
I don't have my portfolio on me.
I would love to show it to someone.
Mostly because I love the reactions.
Look at Heroin Hobo.
Look at Rotting Raccoon.


I am quite sexually frustrated.
It makes me wilder and more hyper.
I just.
Want skin.
And chest hair.
And the taste of another's breath.
And I want to grab hair.

I want a lot of things.

OKay, and why do people stare at me like I'm odd.
In Santa Cruz, they love tha kooks.
But no, they love hippie kooks.
Look at me, and I'm too groovy or something.
They think I'm rich because I'm wearing a fur scarf that cost me ten dollars.
Always saying to me and Liza that we don't look like we're from here.
She is.
I'm from Sacramento, but what does that tell you?
I look like I'm from an era, I guess, rather than a location.

And in New York, they talk about fashion.
They act like they ain't phased when they see someone dressed well walkin' around.
But they're talking about classy booshie floopy doops.
I'm walking about with tha peep nauk meek mauk boop de loop.
They look at me like wha dat what tha fuck, is that California on Smith st?
No matter where I go, I'm looking weird.
I'm fine with that.
But don't stare you sheep.
Don't stare like you don't have to option to do what you want and stand out.

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