Does the girl
who secretly wishes she was gay so she wouldn’t have to feel like making up
excuses for her odd behaviour suffer from a mental illness? Man I wish so much
I was in to girls and their cute smiles and small frames. I’d take them out on
fantastic dates to places that felt like lost gems of the city, impoverished
parts of town with an independent book store café that turns in to a bar at
night and has a roof garden with a view that says to her, I can be knowing,
arty, dangerous and poignant – what sort of other date place or dude could
offer you that? I’d smoke a roll-up cigarette offer her a ¾ profile view of my
strangely beautifully lit face in the dusk air, then we’d go back inside and
I’d compliment her some more and buy her cake.
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