BED’s patrons can sip cocktails and don the club’s complimentary socks
I tried to start this blog post a bunch of times but it hasn’t worked. I guess that means I can’t figure myself out. I can’t. The imaginary is a drug and I am addicted to it. And that inevitably means pushing away the real and the people who actually have something positive to offer me. I am powerless. I live to torment myself. But hey, it was another wholesome weekend. I went surfing for the first time. I got a plant. I went to a Berkeley party where people had names like Pepper and Io. I ate Taco Bell. Check out these Polaroids!
