May 2013
I want to live the kind of life Jay Gatsby lived.
The rain is different here.
It just feels different here- the rain just kind of bangs down on the tarred rooves and aluminum siding here. It crashes into the bricks that are small and oddly shaped, and it seems not to have much of an effect on anyone. People at the bus put up an umbrella, maybe the jogger cuts it short, but mostly it’s a non event here.
In New York, in the summer anyway, rain was kind of a soft, steady...
I met a boy stuck in his ways; He found a girl he...
