I'm Happier Writing About Doctors Than I

I Don’t Care About Anyone, And The Feeling Is Quite Obviously Mutual.

There Is A Certain Unique And Strange Delight About Walking Down An Empty Street Alone.

I Didn't Know What I Was Doing In New York.

Only I Wasn't Steering Anything, Not Even Myself.

God, If Ever I Have Come Close To Wanting To Commit Suicide, It Is Now, With The Groggy Sleepless Blood Dragging Through My Veins, And The Air Thick And Gray With Rain ... I Fell Into Bed Again This Morning, Begging For Sleep, Withdrawing Into The Dark, Warm, Fetid Escape From Action, From Responsibility. No Good.