Those big shapes your lips make when you’re hungry or when you’re drunk, or when you slam your fist down on the bar with wild eyes and glower really get me. They get me, you know, like two fat hooks. But I think you should stop smoking, I really do. And I think you should be careful when you’re driving home, I don’t care what time it is or what your gut tells you to do. You were always all guts, no brains. We always said that about you when you were in one of your moods. All heart, no soul, or something like that. But you were always all lips, anyways, weren’t you. When those two smack together we all shut up and watch and wait and worry what you’ll do next.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth