Jerry Springer

I fell asleep to the sound of silence; the smoke detector quiet after twenty minutes of playing around with it. We slept in our clothes, in a borrowed bed, in a house that was not remotely ours, and we slept apart. My foot touched his leg before the sleep set in, and he kicked my legs away and grabbed my waist and told me I was icy and he wasn’t sure he could spend the next few hours next to me. I laughed slightly, but not before I realized what I really want. Him.
We went to Jerry Springer this afternoon. We sat in the second row, and I shook Jerry Springer’s hand. I’ll have to describe it later; it was insane and exhausting. Smutty, a lovely afternoon break from everything.
Afterward, we took a cab from the studio and went out for soup at Chicago’s best soup bar. I had Mexican tortilla soup. And I loved it.
And now, with a headache, I am feeling worse for the wear and desperately in need of sleep.

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