The thickness of bars.

Why do I destroy everything I touch? Because everything I touch, I touch really hard, over and over again, until it is broken. Fundamentally we are alone. How was your day, honey? There are no moral standards, everything is permitted. Did you buy bin liners? All I care for is banal, rinky-dink chart indie. It's the only thing that makes me feel alive. Some truths: I couldn't love a woman without back dimples. Eaters of meat are out too, unless they're prodigious gum chewers, or it's a one-off, 'we're stranded in the Andes' type thing. Tonight I watched people loudly assert the merits of their own home town in contrast to the demerits of their opponents', and I fucking loved it.