miles like 12 or something
This hostel, you guys. It’s just like some stoned dude’s apartment in Brooklyn, but he doesn’t live here, so there’s like me and a handful of European vagabonds just alone in a Brooklyn apartment. I feel like this could be an intro to a porno, and the hot Lithuanian chick and hot German dude tried to get me to go out with them so maybe it could have been, but fuck you I’m tired — and also every article of clothing I own smells. Like — really.
Tomorrow I’m going to embrace the New York fashion world and maybe go to H&M to get some pajamas and an unstained tshirt. Next step: Dolce and Gabbana.
My Kazakhzstanian roommate is asleep (also hot, damn) because she’s going back to Kazakhstan tomorrow, so I’m typing in the dark, forgive me.
Less than two months ago, the only time I felt comfortable and whole was when I closed the door to my apartment behind me and I was alone in the dirty whitewalls, and I shut that off, I ended the option. I haven’t slept alone in my own space since. I am still uncomfortable and I am still unhappy but puzzle pieces slide themselves into shape.