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“Alfred Sean Roberts, twenty-five, and a Virgo.”
Run.
Happy people can’t pick up pennies with their ass cheeks.
“Miss me, Pup?”
“Yeah. They don’t mess around. Fast cars, parties, drugs, and girls.”
“Those boys, pretty as they are, I think might have the devil inside them.”
“Careful, violence makes me hard.” He tilts his head and his eyes flare, the sight of them like the glint of a knife. “I’m a psychiatrist’s wet dream.”
“Get ’em, baby,”
“Then maybe you should have gotten a real dog, not a fucking shower poof,”
“Fuck yourself, Dominic, there’s a hobby.”
“Didn’t want to leave you without serving dessert. You all can fuck right off.”
My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.
“Do women actually sleep with you?” “No, never. They’re too busy screaming my name,”
“You’re the secret.”
“I like the way you quack,”
“Who better to inform you of your wrongdoings other than your biggest mistake?”
“A rare bastard you can’t seem to stop fucking.”
“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.”
But in a lot of aspects, they’re night and day; dark cloud and golden sun.
“Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my motherfucker?”
“I’m thinking I forgot who the fuck I am.”
