Don’t wait for the hearse (to take you to church)

Boatless and with deteriorating social skills. A mess of messes under a hot, greasy collar, heavy lip ‘bout used up. Your eyes were blue; I shouldn’t know that.

“Whoops- sorry! Here, I’ll get it.” “Nah I got it.” “Hey, You cut the whole damn thing off!”

Tough shit, blue eyes. That weren’t your drift. 

Warmwater was calling to me anyhow.