"Do you think it was destiny that brought us together?"
"No. I’m pretty sure it was Cinder.”
this elevator dings. you vaguely register that the bell has a kind of woozy double-frequency tremulousness, as if it is audible somewhere other than your ears, like in your teeth. as if it goes directly into your brain without passing your ears. also do the doors look….different than they did a second ago? you don’t really notice. you are texting, and anyway who cares, you are just trying to get to the third floor, where the Express is, because you need a pair of work pants. as the doors slide closed you reach out to press the “3” button. your fingers freeze in mid-air. there is no “3” button. all the buttons say “ha.” ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. your brow wrinkles. you look around. the tinny elevator music is subtly shifting into a chorus of weird crooning chants that sound like hiiiiiiiiiii. hiiiiiiiiii. hiiiiiiiii. "UM!" you say aloud. you press one of the "ha" buttons. the glass sides of the elevator start to fog up with a pink mist. you can’t see the mall atrium anymore. animal panic sets in and you slam your hand across all of the buttons. the elevator judders once, then starts to descend. at first you are afraid, but then slowly you realize: this is your fate. this was always going to happen. this was the moment you have always been waiting for. Your Moment. a smell of creamy musk and grapefruits drifts into your nostrils. you are swaddled in a pink narcotic haze. “is this okay?” whispers someone in your ear. “of course,” you say dreamily. “of course it’s okay, harry styles.” the mist closes in around you. the elevator vanishes into the earth. you will never get to buy your pair of work pants. your family will never see you again
I hate it when you get too fucked up from drinking and then you can’t drink certain drinks anymore because it tastes like that time you almost died.
i think about this a lot
if i don’t get married in an elie saab dress what’s the point
if english isn’t your first language but you think and dream in english and sometimes have to mentally translate from english to your first language when speaking it as a consequence of your consistent exposure to the internet clap your hands
Some women at my job is talking about 50 Shades like it’s fucking Dickens. What.
listen if you insult cats you are also insulting me