A fucking disease it was, and it is.


coupes. bags. shoes. clothes.


a question of need is a question of taste.


quarrels. every single fucking night.

borrowed money. promised you would return. which you never did. and it wasn't like you spent them wisely. wasted away. not like it was unexpected.


is the worth of a man how much he can pay?

i would believe it's less wrong to think that the worth of a man is how much he has. well at least that would be a spendthrift.



still.