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WEDNESDAY MORNING AT THE BACKPACKERS (1)

Waking up in a different bed.

A European girl across from me.

Every thing is switched, so perfectly.

Looking like a twisted mirrors reflection.

 

Bunk beds.

Messy hair.

Morning breath.

 

She turns her head, looks at me, and asks

“Wanna go have a cigarette?”

 

Come on, honey, please?

I just don’t want to be lonely.


Silent while those French guys eat eggs.

Another passive aggressive draw of my durry.

I’m kind of fucking pissed at them.

They kept me up til 4am.

 

Aujourd’hui

nous sommes

mercredi.

 

“Cheer up, little poofy.

Tonight, let’s get fucking wrecked.”

 

Come on, honey, please?

I just don’t want to be lonely.




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