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Guest Pseudoprep©

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you brag about shit that some of us have "been-there-done-that" and honestly, now that i'm over it, i know it aint nothing to brag about. you say you rack for survival, but then talk about spending 40 bucks on non-alcoholic drinks. sounds like you rack cuz you think its cool. try glamorize racking when you're sitting in a jail cell for a little can of tuna fish, dumbass. find something cool to brag about. i guess i'm the dumbass for reading this whole thing

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Guest Pseudoprep©

Do you ever get nostalgic?

 

I was just looking through old photos of me hanging out with some of my old friends who wrote and I sorta missed it all for a minute. Like the nights where we'd load up bags full of northface jackets and diesel jeans while high on painkillers, and then sell stolen dvd players in alleys to skatboarders while catching tags the whole day. We'd end up eating some food somewhere, stealing books, drinking free cappucions and then meeting up with some girls (always provided by me) and scamming our way into a movie.

My socalled friends and I havent talked in over a month. I have no clue what any of them are doing. I bet one of em is still smoking pot all day reading poetry in the nice adidas that I STOLE FOR HIM, while the other kid is out trying to slang vitamins and sugars to yuppies and play nice for his parents so they dont scold him for coming in at 11pm instead of 10. Geez. We were all cool at once. We'd drive around throwing shit out windows, getting in fights with idiots, doing drugs drugs drugs, shoplifting, vandalizing and going to fratparties just to steal their shit. We even did a gallery show together. After that, none of us even talk to eachother. I sorta just wanted to seperate myself from them in a way, but now I sorta miss the stupid shit we did. I feel like an old man now. Sellin fake I.D.'s to little kids, and outfitting every middleschool and highschool kid within a 10 mile radius with the best brass knuckles money can buy. But hey...theyre gonna get their hands on weapons somehow. Why not help out?

I'm sitting here high outta my mind on oxycodone and alprazolam listening to the Requiem for A Dream soundtrack sipping on a soda just reminiscing. It's pretty depressing actually. Some days I question if it's me just seeing everything distorted because afterall, I am the one that is fucked up 24 hours a day. Maybe I'm to blame. I hate that feeling. So I just brush it aside and do "work." I know sooner or later I'll bump into one of them on the street. I dunno how thats gonna go. It's already akward enough not talking to them.

I dunno.

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