Your thoughts exist; they just don’t count for much. They’re a rickety scaffold of half-baked ideas and miscalculations that wrap around your man’s decisions… they don’t determine the shape of your life, they merely follow it.

They’re a babbling, semi-lucid commentary track for a movie in which you are —at most— a supporting player.

Please pretty please write a story where a girl is tied up and left to be used by whoever or something

Girl exhaled like an animal when it realizes the trap has been sprung, or like an old woman giving up the ghost. Whatshisname grunted in satisfaction, noting that exhalation was now the only movement his handiwork allowed. He stood and looked —first east and then west— down the track.… Read the rest “Please pretty please write a story where a girl is tied up and left to be used by whoever or something”