I’m up sewing at Jenn’s apartment. My clothes are half off and we stripped Jenn topless so I might lace her corset properly. Derek and Jeff are over, talking shop. I checked my mail here to discover that Hunter Thompson shot himself. I’m partially recovered now, though my hands are still shaking. A writer has been ripped from us, I should have been older when this news came.
I wish my love were here to hold me.