IF YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT I SAY, YOU PROBABLY SUCK.

seinfeld, seasons one through three

sitting at my kitchen table by the bay windows. there’s really no point, though, it’s dark outside.  i polished the counters, they’re gleaming at me, so pretty, really.  the record player is spinning around and everything feels so good.  it feels so good as i pour it down my throat.  it trickles right down like a slinky descending the staircase but it feels like a winter living room fire like the ones when i was younger and my parents watched seinfeld together, when i didn’t understand the jokes and i thought they’d be together forever.  it falls down to my stomach and kindles there, and things seem happy, hopeful, adventurous, inspiring.  it feels so good.  it feels so good.