Would you marry me if I asked you to? Would you take the dogs out for a walk in the nabe, and stop into the corner coffee shop for a latte, even if it might make you stay up all night and say grumpy comments at work come next morning? Please, say “Yes.” I need to be loved. I want the same life as those people in Kinfolk magazine. I want sublime, aesthetic beauty to surround me at all times, to bubble-wrap me inside a noiseless room of socio-economic success. Global warming strikes my face, making me curse the world, damning it—Nietzsche on the mountain looking up at the thunderstorm—but I must continue, I must go on, I must surprise my parents with beautiful Christmas gifts. I must take advantage of Black Friday, and of living in this neighborhood that I have no deep thoughts for, just so I can take the subway into Manhattan in and out, in and out. But I have deep thoughts for you; so deep that I want to get married, listening to violins usher us into this new life, a life inside of a life, of us, our life, our new life.
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