It’s chilly in the apartment. It’s the kind of chilly that reminds me of New Jersey nights, before the ice and the space heater, when Jenn and I would walk on the boardwalk for hours. I’ve got a candle going that is the same fragrance as what I used to burn then. I’m listening to The Exit, and their jamming nuevo-Police stylings are just similar enough to the RX Bandits album that we used to listen to on repeat that it’s eerie. I’ve had this Strike Anywhere hoodie for over a year now, I got it at the concert where Jenn and I didn’t meet, but both saw each other. Me, up on the balcony pumping my fist and screaming along, her down front getting shoved all over the place.
I think I come off cavalier when I talk about some of my ex-girlfriends, but that’s mainly to hide the obvious hurt that I feel in the majority of the cases. Things haven’t ever been perfect, but things have been really good before. Don’t think otherwise, with a few exceptions.
I’m enjoying these ruminations.
justinª