half_listen raze he sat on my couch and said he was between two laurens. he told me about a bar owner of our mutual acquaintance fucking a friend's girlfriend on new_year's_eve and getting caught. he admitted to shoplifting. he justified it by claiming he was combating capitalism. the truth was he just didn't want to have to pay for a winter coat out of his own pocket. he talked about his bassist getting drunk and heckling the audience at a show. as if he didn't already know who the guy was after paying him good money to record an album that was never made. he complimented a flaming douche canoe who took me for a ride and rubbed himself raw with the hand he made of his mouth. it wasn't a conversation. it was a monologue. i had to force my voice into the bloodshot eye of the storm. i had things of my own to say. i had stories to tell that were about more than the same shitty people everyone else talked shit about doing shitty things to one another. i could see in his face how much he hated it. he was only half there, waiting for his turn to speak again. i don't know how many people i've let do that to me in my life. i'd like to say he was the last of them, but that would be a lie. 240519 what's it to you? who go blather from