void98 / juhi ♫( -_・) ︻デ═一  ▸

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101421 (ripe fruit)

what a peculiar space to be occupying at 8:30pm on a Thursday—a warm clear evening in San Francisco, everything a dusky blue and lavender in a melancholy light. the house is old, and this woman peculiar, like the house she's lived in for 27 years, or was it 28 [...] sometimes even though he reminds me of a puppy, docile and helpless, meaning well, I feel a deep connection to him and I feel seen, though he says such few words [...] I feel foolish, guilty, and young [...] I do nothing, and it affects me so deeply [...] but perform I do! like Aditi said, at least im not a heroin addict—where's my trophy? [...] why was I so quick to brand myself an outcast? why is it so safe to hate? [...] today I feel I have lost my grip on reality. I am in an unfamiliar place with my shoes off and if I stop writing someone will squid game me [...] the sound started glitching, or was that just a remix? [...] my horoscope has been eerily accurate. I need no reason to disbelieve. [...] my pity party brings no boys to the yard, no sir. Catherine asked—why don't we have boyfriends? mouth full of frozen pupusa, I responded—I know, right?

100421

the inside of the muni bus looks like a deconstructed minion—at 11:02 p.m. on a monday a sharp man who looks like he lives in Berkeley gets on the 5—he tries to pay twice (to his credit) but throws up his hands (comically) when it doesn't work and sits right down—he wears a blue crewneck sweater with a crest, starched collar, and is carrying an almost-empty liter bottle of pink lemonade...where is he shuttling to, so deep in the richmond, so late at night, with so little lemonade? once, soft r&b plays out of someone's shitty phone speaker, but when the bus comes to a halt it is so silent you can hear me gulp...everyone is so quiet that they come into full focus, in themselves as individuals, each a quiet soul in the night, a start and an end on this eerie ride...my key is in between my fingers, it feels like a toy that I can bend if I will it hard enough, like somehow the amoral strangeness of this empty-ish bus has bestowed me with a curious superhumanism...I did not pay my fare this time, but I do sometimes...

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