I had a thing for fat Japanese girls. I also

I had a thing for fat Japanese girls. I also had a thing for antique pistols from the Civil War. I never thought that my two loves would coincide when I decided to

rubbed out my cigarette against my wrist, a ritual I often resorted to in order to feel something from all the years of junk dulling my nervous system. "Well well well, if it isn't

you." I mumbled/coughed out, as another puff of smoke escaped my lungs. Nonetheless, wasn't too happy to see you at all. Or the tears crawling down your stupid face. God I hate you

and your pretentious friends! I hate your tattoos, your piercings, your scarifications, your implants! I hate your Burning Man memorabilia! Your LP collection! Oh god, how I LOVE

when you make that farty noise in your armpit, the smell of sweat in the morning after your fifteen kilometer jog and when you turn your head and cough. It turns me on.

Its like a puminescent move of the light when you put the electron blue t-shirt on. You know, the one with Monty Python' s insignia on it.

You decided not to see those colors for what they were; not tonight, and tonight they were her shadows. That won't show up later to burn you . You can be sure of that if you can.

So the colors of her shadows passed you by and faded, and even now you can't imagine what they were. Maybe it's for the best. If she is gone, you would be wise not to try to

follow. It would be akin to trying to rescue a drowning man, they will only pull you under as well. She was gone a long time ago.