to the next to the next sort of life

What I've learned:

RCR's = death. There's nothing quite like the desperation - yet liberation - of knowing for certain, "I am fucked." Everyone has a story. Everyone. I can function on one hour of sleep, apparently. Never think that you won't run into someone again. We may be exhausted but I will always be trying to make you laugh - and laughing even if you stay silent. My friends roll deep. Always. These bathrooms do not include soap. Or towels. I say I'm nervous but I walk up and down as if this is in fact mine. As if those answers are mine.

And I love this dizzying jolts of words - laughs in slow times - quick quick feet - one hour of sleep smile and pass from the next to the next to the next sort of life.