Why must my friends be alcoholics?

31 Mar

It’s 3am. There is no Effusively Complimenting Starling in this nest. She is still out fluttering at a party, no doubt beautifully drawling each sentence with “Now, my darling”… I love my friends, truly I do. And, so I ask again, why must all of my friends be lushes (beautifully articulate, caring and dazzling, nonetheless)?

She prepared me, honestly she did. She warned me she’d be late and fantastically messy. And I just know she will twirl and pirouette around the apartment and revolt against sleep before crashing Marianne Faithful-style (Nico is mine, goddammit) 30mins before we have to leave. And I know that, in lieu of teaching the Seagull how to drive (surely it’s time, she’s only five minutes away from starting each morning with a cigar and breakfast poker), I need someone close to me to indulge in my airport farewell ritual. You know, that loving hug and kiss, the knowledge that someone is excited or sad about your journey. Thankfully, the Effusively Complimenting Starling also shares this love.

How’s the cleaning? Well it’s just perverse to vacuum at 3am. Anyway, LeeLee Zofia lives in a share house. In comparison, this makes the Palazzo del Polo Shirt worthy of Howard fuckin‘ Hughes.

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