Happy Fuck you of July
Last night a couple folks came over, and we grilled
on our ghetto balcony, for the first time.
I did it to make Hopey happy, and even ate a hamburger.
Hopey is my flatmate for a long time.
Somehow we made it work.
Partly by being willing to let each other pursue
our own addictions and happiness.
For me, drinking, smoking, and writing shit online.
For her, watching tik-tok, eating processed food, and
drinking fountains of mountains of Mountain Dew.
She walks my dog sometimes so I do (all) the cleaning for us.
Sometimes she disgusts me by how much red meat, bacon, fat she consumes, and yet, I ate one of the burgers she made last night.
I also ate my chicken, and drank 3-4 chocolate beers.
Then I threw up, just kidding, I didn’t.
I put a pillow over my head to drown out the fireworks
and passed out at 9 PM.
Hopey and her friends stayed up to “watch the fireworks” out the window, which is so dirty you can barely even see the neighborhood outside of it.
But I don’t argue with everything.
This morning, she said, We were able to hear the fireworks, but not really see them. like, no shit, Sherlock. you do the craziest things.
Would I know Hopey at all if we didn’t live together? No. Even if we worked at the same job (which, we do, as caretakers), I wouldn’t hang around her because she’s loud and never stops talking.