Evil people rarely know they’re evil.

I had liked it so much when I got it, but now that it was no longer new it didn’t feel good enough. Now that I had owned it for more than a minute it had gotten some of me on it.

What a luxury, the luxury of a man. The luxury of someone who looked at the ravages of time and went, “Eh.” And that is when I said it.

I could feel us attaching and knew that any chance of breaking apart from him emotionally was not possible. I was his now.

“No, he’s, like, I don’t know what. A computer programmer. Might be on the spectrum. Does yoga, though. Huge cock.” “So fun,”

This was just what people did now. We went from emotion to phone. This was how you didn’t die in the twenty-first century.

I was not trying to kill myself so much as vanish. I just wanted to go to sleep and be transported into the ether, another world. I guess that vanishing would have meant death, so perhaps it was an attempt at suicide? But I felt afraid of death, or at least, afraid of dying. Was there something that wasn’t death but wasn’t here either?

I didn’t know what I was doing or who I was being, but I knew that I liked it better than me.

One minute you were playfully complaining to friends about a man’s farts and the next minute you would kill to have the farts back.