“Still, it’s a sharp shock

to your soft side.”


“The way you make me feel all sexy

but it’s causing me shame.”


“’You’re too old to be so shy,’

he says to me so I stay the night.”


“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
Breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I will never rust
If you like your coffee hot
Let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots babe
I just wanna be yours.”


“I still owe money to the money to the money I owe

I never thought about love when I thought about home

I still owe money to the money to the money I owe

The floors are falling out from everybody I know.”

(Made out in bed to this song recently with Ace. And, ugh, yes. It’s just one of those songs that always does it for me. It’s evocative – I tried to explain to her, though I didn’t really have the words – of this weird sort of present nostalgia. Like, this feeling that these are these particular moments, these particular days that I’ll remember with that sort of warmth. And the music just feels like bedsheets and soft light. It feels like drowning in another person. But also that feeling of looking around a room and realizing this is your life, these are your people, this is all your suffering and your energy and your joy. Of being young and broke and stupid. It feels like thrill and cockiness and bravery and the weird way things can feel casual and intense all at once when they’re new or when they’re ending, like they’re nothing and everything.)