Look. I am sitting in my living room reading a magazine eating a banana crouched over the piano like some sort of crazy ape that feeds off the noises that you make. Although really, I could do this on my own all day long. And since nothing that we can do really seems to mean anything at
all, you will tell me to my face that I am not seeing the sound of your breath that hangs over our heads in front of my nose like the white-green birdshit that is plastered all over the windshield of my freshly washed station wagon which I parked under the canopy of that silly willow tree in front of your apartment just three minutes ago.

Okay, look. Just tell me what the hell it is that I'm supposed to be crying for and I'll do it. I'll do it, I swear I will because I want to see something else besides the birdshit on my windshield and I'd really appreciate it too if you would just tell that silly willow tree over there to quit weeping all over the place, pretending to be so incredibly fucking sad all the fucking time when really its just dropping shit everywhere, all over my car making a big deal out of nothing, nothing at all. And thats all that we're going to end up getting if we keep this up the way you swear you want to. Because nothing begets nothing. Just the way you like it. But since lately we've obviously been having nothing but a whole lot of nothing around here, it really shouldn't be a problem for the either of us.