The Signpost.

I can excercise my lust like doing arm curls, in the form of idle wandering down your narrow streets in my semi-permenant dusk. It is how I ever get anywhere-- on the tail end of a pretty girl moving vaugely in the general direction I might want to go.

I loved you, you flittering image, I loved you intensely, for the period of one-half a quad, for as long as it takes you to get to the bus stop, the book shop, your 11:00 modernist literature class.

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