I was hungover in homeroom. I puked all over that anorexic girl's wooly mammoth jumper and had to drag myself to the bathroom. I had a smoke afterward, dropped the butt in the cistern and had some sleepy, sloppy thoughts about Molly Ringwald. My pining echoed in the weird, outdoorsy acoustics of the bathroom and the hollow reverberations of the fittings and the silver taps and the smooth curve of the sink sounded like her voice. I had to leave Physics too when I got aroused by a Venn diagram that reminded me of Molly's breasts and how she applies lipstick with them in The Breakfast Club when she's stoned. I wish I could smoke a number and watch Tron. Someone blew my candles out. I'm stuck. There must be some mistake, an error... I don't think I'm meant to be in here.
Photo taken from 'The Breakfast Club' (John Hughes) 1986. No copyright infringement intended.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment