returned her Christmas present
threw the spare hair-tie she kept on my gear-shift out the window
got rid of the book of crosswords she couldn't handle alone
crumpled the junior high-esque note she left on my desk
re-alphabetized the movies I'd planned to watch with her on my shelf
bought a pack of smokes for the first time in a month
swore I'd never go for a broad who could barely walk and chew gum again
but I really didn't get rid of her until I washed my sheets today.
Currently reading:
"The Childhood of a Leader" by Jean-Paul Sartre.
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