eloquensartifex

I There is a street in Southampton where the virtuous dare not tread. A shattered gas lamp spares a spectator the sight of cracked and missing windows, windows standing as brazenly bare in their frames as the uncovered heads of the wretched knee tremblers in the alley shadows. What need is there for the privacy of laced curtains, when mother stands with mother in open doorways and tells of all that passed within? They gossip as their children chase each other in the street, passing ancient, decrepit houses that strain against low-set wooden beams as if dreaming of the moment when they will finally be able to dash themselves to the ground. No

Dear Austin, I don't care that I've moved states, or that we don't talk as much as we used to. I love you, and whenever we do see each other, everything clicks right into place as if we'd never gone for months without talking. I hate that, by the way. The whole "not talking" thing. Still, I understand. Life happens. While we're on the subject of life, and the fact that it is taking us to new places, I have to tell you something: I'm very leery about this new girlfriend of yours. I hope she has changed a lot since I knew her, because if not... I know she isn't good enough for you. Then again, is a person ever good enough for a best friend? D