Jogger
Infection: I want Jogger. Can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop taking photographs of him. Can’t stop sneaking into his apartment and stealing his things: a triple-bladed razor, Nike tennis shoes, a novel called Clever. Can’t stop fingering his n****e while he sleeps. Can’t stop fingering his c**k while he sleeps. Can’t stop taking his food: noodles, a gallon of milk, half of a hoagie. Can’t stop. Never. Don’t want to stop.
He doesn’t know me. Probably doesn’t want to know me. Who really wants to know me? I don’t even know myself at times.
Too many drugs.
Too much alcohol.
Too little s*x with random strangers in a dirty bathroom without a condom.
You’re me. You want to be me.
Fuck off. There’s only one of me.
You can’t handle being me.
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Details: Jogs along Smithfiel
