Go.

"Number 14 will make you shit your pants."

Saw Ben Folds for the fourth time this year on Friday. It was hot. He finally played Evaporated.
I stood in the corner by his drum stool, closed my eyes and rocked back and forth to the three simple keys played over and over. It was just like, "FINALLY. You redneck sonofabitch. Its about fucking time." And so I was content. I rubbed my belly like a fat man after eating a pork pie. Go Folds. You weird little man.

The last couple weeks have been a haze.
Everything and anything has been bouncing around me. Springs here, but it feels cold outside and I suppose that's me in a nutshell. I'm here, but I'm just so cold.
Three more weeks and I leave Toronto for good. No more subways, no more rude people, no more George Brown. I'm surprisingly calm.

The nineteen year old is gone.
I don't feel anything towards him anymore. I can't even remember what he looks like. I just see someone so unbelievably troubled and incapable of almost anything human. I just see a waste of time.

I've taken two jobs to keep me from acknowledging the fact that I'm moving back in with my mother.
My new meaning in life is to work.

There's not really anything else to stop for.