MY FEET PAIN, JUST as my heart squeezes in agony with every step I take closer to the jet. I don't see but hear Vincent leave and for the first time I am not going to worry about that, I know I have to let him go.
He was never mine to begin with. And though I bleed in my reality that our story was never a story, just a figment of my imagination, I know forgetting him is what I have to do.
My steps slow down as I spot the guy standing next to Michael's Chrome Jet, near the air-stairs wearing A Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club jacket, which they call a cut. He is looking like a model from those tattoo biker books Diamond keeps begging me to buy every damn month.
What a fine piece of meat with those ripped dark Jeans. And maybe if I wasn't so close to the brink of breaking down I would have
