(shuffle simpleton)

My brain is a canadian amatuer, welcoming in the wet, grey New York City morning with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. half-naked save for the penguin shorts i should've abandoned long ago but i can't help but hold on to because it's nice to have an attachment to the past that's innocent (even if it is an undergarment, it's not so hard to remember a time when underwear wasn't just a portal between me and making sexy sexy times with a lady friend).

The partner in crime doesn't seem to mind though. she has attachments of her own. not that the penguins have ever come between us. i'd like to think i have a little more tact than that (though not much, friends. not much at all) and would opt for something marginally more grown-up (indication enough) if my aim in life is to woo and seduce or even get lucky with that cheshire grin i still remember waking up to when i was seventeen on my grandparents' couch, a high school sweetheart upstairs and the implausible realization that i was, in fact, no longer of the virginal world.

I hope that naivete never changes, otherwise this sex thing gets fucked and i'm far too attached to let that happen.

I think.


I am.

Heh. heh. heh.


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