Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!
Just Leave Do I think that you genuinely like me? Well, judging by the letters, a lot more than I originally thought. But you know what I tell myself when I find myself starting to like someone? "It's just chemicals." Then I usually have a little period of depression where the thought of contact with another human being makes me gag, and my empty shell of a body wakes up the next morning ready to face the day. The chemicals decide to neutralize themselves for a while to keep me from killing myself, I guess.
him. in reply. twenty-three january two thousand one.

So yeah. This will be very stripped down, but the whole point of this is not to look aesthetically pleasing, but you all know where you can get shit like that from me. I'm just here to get this story down for the masses to see. You know, without physically e-mailing files and stuff like that.
Anyway, I think I'm dedicating this little ditty to a kid I know: d.e.l.
You figure it out.

San Francisco: I San Francisco: II Edward Where It Ends

Further Reading: some quotes that existed in where it ends when it was simply called just leave but just didn't mesh when the other stuff was incorporated. conversation with r. pumphrey on story. feedback from the short story workshop @ zoetrope.com. er?

Some extra bits later perhaps.

I can be reached @ either the address listed somewhere else in this mess, my e-mail, or my number (978)4410920. Probably advisable to e-mail me because though I've found that letters are nice, the only person who writes me is a. drenas and only because we can't converse any other way. I suppose it's cheaper and more legible the other way. Also, phones make me nervous.