I’m kind of just standing here in the garage and the light is all dusty and yellow like it’s coming through a dirty soda bottle.

I’m sitting on the floor of my kitchen at two in the morning and I’m staring at sixteen identical glass jars of artisanal pasta like they’re going to tell me the meaning of my fucking life.

the clouds look like spilled milk or maybe that expensive organic yogurt i spend half my life scraping off the kitchen floor. …

I sit there and the air is thick like someone spilled a bottle of old grease on a radiator.