Listen. And understand. That terminator is out there. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or
fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.
There's a store on Madison Ave in the 90's in NYC called Blue Tree. It's owned by Phoebe Cates. My wife goes there all the time and sees her
quite a bit. She tells me she's so sweet and looks exactly the same as she did in Fast Times At Ridgemont High and all I can ever think is "is she
soaking wet and removing her top?"
I never have any reason to be in the area and yet I will find myself wandering up there when I am ten, fifteen blocks away, just to see if my
childhood love is there so I can stand in the store, drool for an hour and then purchase thousands of dollars of crap that I don't need or want, just
so I can get some change and hope her hand brushes mine in the exchange.
My wife tells me that this is wrong. I haven't figured out why.
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