Soooo many people fucking their neighbors. Don Draper and the broad from Freaks and Geeks with black hair. My pal fucking his (not single) roommate. I’m sure Grams has a thing with the dentist next door. A college pal of mine married his next door neighbor, as they started sleeping together three months before she broke up with her ex. Fucking, A-bomb of all people is seeing the 40-year-old down the block from the house he owns. My coworker wants to get up in my desk neighbor. Kevin Bacon always inside his old neighbor while tryna get back his wife in the Following. And aside from my Grams, I don’t think any of these people are Christian. Or at least, they aren’t now. Also, nooooobody likes plums or peaches like Matthew Papich (Co La). Err, maybe he doesn’t like these fruits?
Same time: my girl now was never my neighbor. She also don’t believe in Christianity. I mean, neither do I, but I do have a witching-hour, in which I usually get bombed-out wasted for two or three hours after my girl hits the hay, and I listen to music and write or game or sit. And thinking of my praise that way, I worship that moment in which I’m merely my girl’s neighbor. As if I’m a roommate, thinking of the love I have for my roommate, religiously sipping on [whatever booze is in the pantry] and puffin’ on that LOUD. Usually my pals are bitching at me through an online microphone to turn down my music. Personally, Co La for me has been in my catalog for a minute or two. So when the new Co La LP Moody Coupe drops May 7 on Software Recording Co., my stereo will track out HARD.