It's goddamn freezing on this beach.
What's the point of the sun if it doesn't warm anything?
There's snow under my feet and I can't feel my face.
I wish I had another cigarette but I left them in my car.
I should be at work.
But I'm so tired of everyone.
I wish I could fly.
God, I wish I could.
Hah! If I could I'd get far away from here.
Man, it's freezing.
I need a girl, someone to keep me company.
But no one would think twice about a guy like me.
Or maybe I'm just too fucking scared to talk to people.
I can barely write, I've lost the feeling in my fingers.
I feel like it was something that told me to come here.
Like I need to do something or meet someone or anything.
Or maybe not.
I couldn't think of anything but Montauk since I woke up.
So, I guess here I am.
It's so ugly and cold this time of year.
Maybe it's God or fate or something like that.
I've always wanted to be into that.
To be someone who has hope and all.
But Church isn't for me.
Besides, I don't think I could sit still while listening to a cocky man on a podium tell me what I can and can't do.
But I really need to stop smoking.
I didn't sleep well last night.
I kept having a dream about some red-head.
She's got red hair and a blue pair of running shoes.
But God, she's beautiful.
I don't want to talk to her.
Not only because I'm so goddamn anti-social but because my lips are frozen shut.
She didn't say a word.
I need a cigarette.
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