It�s cold out tonight. I take the first long drag of my cigarette. I feel the menthol chill my tongue, my throat. I think about the long day�s drive and the time spent wasted. It�s 12 hours from home to New York. I have no reason to be here. No purpose. I just... left.
I breath out the smoke... I can imagine the tar in my lungs forming. My plump lips becoming thin lines, my white teeth yellowing. My silky hair, straw-like and my soft skin, sagging and spotted with age.
What has happened to me?
I�ve never been to New York before. I wonder why it�s called The Big Apple... I�ll have to look into that.
10:00 p.m. - 2009-09-01
Recent entries:
Hello, Old Friend - 2017-02-13
Heads or Tails - 2011-01-21
Kindness - 2010-12-03
They've taken a toll, these latter days - 2010-11-16
Written in the Winter of 2009 - 2010-09-19
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
journalmine
wildguess
auj
aryssa90
fuckxthis
breathe-salt
my-serenade
herdarlinsin