Casa de Ricardo

hookersorcake:

After three days in the desert I asked the dream owl. It wasn’t a question so much as it was a prayer, so much as it was a song.
How long does our love have to wander searching for water. How lonely do we have to get before we realize we’ve never been alone?
It was high noon and owl answered me in the middle of the casino. In front of everyone its black shadow glittered upon me. It tore me open and I sang an aria of bloody grief. The slot machines cried out in unison and everybody won, even the losers. Especially the losers. They were the only ones who knew.

hookersorcake:

After three days in the desert I asked the dream owl. It wasn’t a question so much as it was a prayer, so much as it was a song.

How long does our love have to wander searching for water. How lonely do we have to get before we realize we’ve never been alone?

It was high noon and owl answered me in the middle of the casino. In front of everyone its black shadow glittered upon me. It tore me open and I sang an aria of bloody grief. The slot machines cried out in unison and everybody won, even the losers. Especially the losers. They were the only ones who knew.

honey-rider:

apricotica:

honey-rider:

"In the semi-darkened office adjoining the art studio Grey Cleveland sat at his desk, dispiritedly rolling a pencil between his fingers. A strange restlessness possessed him tonight, and he sought to identify it."

He drooled moodily onto his starched shirt and used the pencil to pry an errant booger from his left nostril. A string of snot stretched out from the fuzzy depths of his nasal cavity to the clod of dried mucous on the pencil’s tip, gleaming silvery for a moment in the light cast from the laundromat sign across the street before snapping abruptly away from the pencil to smack wetly against his lips. He sighed and licked them. He wondered if tonight might be the night he’d fall victim to a warped game of lust.

Suddenly Dixie came saucing across the street toward him from the Laundromat. It was obvious she’d already had one too many vodkas, her left heel broken by the curb and the black frayed bra strap dangling from her spaghetti strap dress. Forgetting for a moment about boogers, Grey felt something twitch in his pants peering at her between the Venetian blinds.

Tumblr is a pretty special place; it’s why I call it home.

honey-rider:

apricotica:

honey-rider:

"In the semi-darkened office adjoining the art studio Grey Cleveland sat at his desk, dispiritedly rolling a pencil between his fingers. A strange restlessness possessed him tonight, and he sought to identify it."

He drooled moodily onto his starched shirt and used the pencil to pry an errant booger from his left nostril. A string of snot stretched out from the fuzzy depths of his nasal cavity to the clod of dried mucous on the pencil’s tip, gleaming silvery for a moment in the light cast from the laundromat sign across the street before snapping abruptly away from the pencil to smack wetly against his lips. He sighed and licked them. He wondered if tonight might be the night he’d fall victim to a warped game of lust.

Suddenly Dixie came saucing across the street toward him from the Laundromat. It was obvious she’d already had one too many vodkas, her left heel broken by the curb and the black frayed bra strap dangling from her spaghetti strap dress. Forgetting for a moment about boogers, Grey felt something twitch in his pants peering at her between the Venetian blinds.

Tumblr is a pretty special place; it’s why I call it home.