Not Actually Borges (bushidobrown) wrote,
Not Actually Borges

There's this girl sleeping next to me right now. She's grabbed my left foot with one of her sleeping hands and is snoring a little. I'm sitting here, reading* a bit and texting a bit and interneting a bit. And I'm thinking, "how long will I have to live in New York without having a girl that I'm this comfortable with? How long will I live in that city without a real friend?"

* The Man Who Loved Books Too Much, Allison Hoover Bartlett.
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