James, 21, Maschio, Stati UnitiUltimo accesso: Luglio 2012

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He awakes to the dull light trying to force it's way in around the edges of the blanket. He's thrown up in front of the window. The room's painted a somber yellow-gold, and in the dark it goes a soft, formless shade of nothing. He thinks: this is where I'm coming from. The dark suits me.

A disaster of clothes, books, papers, food, and blankets greet him wherever he moves. It makes him nervous. He's only ever comfortable in his car and he hates driving. Rock and roll will never die, he thinks. Rock and roll will never die, he thinks. But my god, it deserves to.

He wonders what's been going on. The same shit... New show but the same script. The party rages on, he's sure. Now that she's gone, it's probably gotten a little easier. A little worse for the wear, perhaps, but he's alone at last. He's alone at last. Alone at last. He's the last.

He used to be on top of his game. A real scene stealer. A ravenous baby-eater. Now, at a 5 and dime, he's a glorified counter-top cleaner where nobodies remember his name.

So much so she loved him, so as it only seemed to hurt. Her devotion only made matters worse.

Well, you can caress it if you want to... But as we've all come to find out, it may take more than love to keep the poison down.

She's someplace now as he's sweating it out - living low, high and dreaming of their forgotten, misplaced schemes. And in the night, to no one, he screams: life takes you where it goes. Life takes you where it goes... Or so it would seem.

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