on monday, they came to see the space - seemingly very cautious; promising it would cost us very little to shoot. it sounded like the truth. on wednesday, the crew's all in my face. making notes on their laptops. continuity snapshots of my desk, i guess, so they can replicate the mess.
they're not going home. i walked out alone.
they cleared out the ground floor and copied keys. always stopped, looked, and listened. always asked us permission and said please. that put us all at ease. all this (of course) was just for show. the office crew stepped out as they were building the set out. we were good with that somehow as we left them there alone.
in a text friday at noon, lauren sez they'll do fourteen-hour days for half an hour of tape.
you bricked yr phone; woke up alone in a new house, all yr own. hands shaking hard. falling apart. got yrself a metrocard.
that's alright with you; cultivate a sick case of glorified, underemployed life apart from glam. (life so far removed from anyone holding yr hand).
inch farther north; smoke on the porch. cut it loose; slash yr support. december brings depression's sting, like a shroud around everything. stale vegan chips. mineral disks. our salt and butter made you sick.
that's alright with you. you said it was worth the companionship to vomit our food. how can that be true? all we did was drink vice presidents and talk about school.
buzzed with you at lunch. long sleeves hiding yr tattoos. how'd you cover up when yr family came in june? yr so gone; quit yr job the day you lost yr septum piercing.
that's alright with me. i will do my best, day in and day out, to make peace. even when yr gone, i can walk a few miles every day. it doesn't take long.
ambling along, i am gonna miss you every day when your are gone.
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