Him: “You’re such a fucking hippie sometimes.”
We’re sitting in my living room, looking at the constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars arranged in a giant K on my ceiling. My strobe light, black light and siren are all on full blast. I call it the LSD Special.
Hendrix may or may not be playing on the stereo.
I look at him, lighter poised over the glass pipe I picked up at a headshop in The Haight last year. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Flick.
- BROWSE / IN TIMELINE
- « A torrid affair.
- » well, child, maybe it’s because you can never satisfy yourself.
- BROWSE / IN Psychedelicatessen
- » the beaten path never loved me anyway.
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