What do I remember about Erin? What's there to remember besides her jumping drunk me and shoving her tongue down my throat grinding. It seems silly to think about on a sunny day in LA. About some night two years ago in Paris that I'm circling this stupid book around. Among other things.
Maybe it's the melodrama of the music. Oh, Allah-Las. I think I'd like to blame Sage instead so I will. What'd the Allah-Las ever do to me? And what'd Sage really do to me? She's just being Sage. Young mixed up Sage. She reminds me of Erin, but with a flare of sexual attraction that I detest. And I do detest it, I do. Because that's the only attraction. What a wicked play on emotions this is. To the both of us. She leaves me feeling like empty death that lingers for days. And Lord knows what'll happen to her. She must think I really like her, which pains me even to write because man, what a terrible twist she's in for. It needs to end. Damned artists. Fuckin' Erins.
