- Oct 2, 2001
- 13,164
- 3
- 81
he stops to admire teh pretties in the shops. I, completely vestigial, hang back, pretend to smoke a cigarette, lean against the glass, feign disinterest, desperate. jackson turns and approaches me, flashes me a wicked grin in the flickering streetlight. his face is a television set flipping through a hundred channels, his voice is the sound of a squeaky bed and inexperienced lovers.
