Keep the streets empty

Someone keep the streets empty for me. I’ll walk them with my bare feet and feel the cracks with the curling tips of my toes, scuffing my nails but I won’t care. He walked along this way before, parting the crowd like an ice breaker. They part for me but for different reasons. Each of us has his own way. Whatever works, we’re practical folk. The thought of him, touching him, foot to foot, letting the warm pavement crawl up my bones, allowing for a shivering moment of success and small pleasures. It leaves though, with sudden flashes of realisation, knowing that this isn’t possible and people are looking. Fuck the people, fuck their pig eyes. 


Continuing my rebellion against the book. Also having auditions for a Famous Friend, please send a message of sincere appreciation and your claim(s) to fame. My preference would be Simon Amstell or Die Antwoord, although Die Antwoord scare me. However I have embraced the fact that humans are quite scary by default, so I'm sure we can sort something out. Call me.

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