hi @ronarnus-blog - Tumblr Blog

me crossing the street on a bad day: ohhh nooo ;) please, car, don’t hit me ;)))

gucciballs-deactivated20200720

the momfriend: (is very gentle and comforting, carefully and calmly helps you work out the root of the issue, gives you lots of space and the affection you need)

the sisterfriend: (pushes you over) alright nerd what do i need to beat up for you? a boy? your feelings? do you need me to punch your feelings?

the dadfriend: (tries to be comforting, generally awkward, likes to make you laugh when you are feeling down, puns)

ruinedchildhood

DONT TELL ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE

jeezlouisephoto

#what a beautiful dog

lizzie-ler

SON OF A BITCH I WAS GOING THROUGH MY OLD YEARBOOKS AND I JUST REMEMBERED THE NAME OF MY SECOND GRADE TEACHER

glumshoe

I’m suddenly laughing at the idea of a cliche noir detective story written in the brutally concise style of Hemingway.

A woman walked into my office. She had legs. I noticed her legs. “I have a problem. I need your help,” she said. They always said that. I knew her legs weren’t the problem. I hoped she might want my help with them anyhow.

glumshoe

“Can you pay?” I asked. Of course she could. Her shoes were worth more than my rent. She could pay. “I can pay,” she said. Her eyes were wet. I wondered if anything else was wet. Probably not. I am not handsome. Not since the war. She was looking at my scar. Lots of people do. Most look away. Not her. She did not look away. She looked at my scar and I looked at her legs. There were two of them. I liked that about her. I liked that a whole lot. “Will there be danger?” I asked. There always is. This city bleeds danger, then drinks it right back up again.

glumshoe

“I’m afraid there might be danger,” she said. She had the voice of a beautiful woman. She also had the face and body of a beautiful woman. She was beautiful.

The light from the window was striped. It made stripes on my cigarette smoke. The end of my cigarette crumbled into ash. My marriage had also crumbled into ash.

“I can handle danger,” I said. I patted the butt of my gun. My gun was a Colt. My gun and my scar were all that was left from my time as a soldier. My gun, my scar, and the nightmares. I looked her up and down. “I am good at handling things.”

#hemingway