I had this dream the other night. it was you, only taller, and we had suntans, and we were comfortable and smiling. you sort of looked like you, crossed with the guy that lives on the second floor, crossed with someone I've never met, or maybe everybody I've ever met.
I'm aching for the new death cab. I don't believe in stealing music, like a guy I know who has had the album for weeks, without paying for it. unless you do that and then go pay for it after. but that's not me.
so, yeah. so in the dream, we could like, talk and stuff. but we weren't saying much, it was more that I knew in the dream that we could. and there was an apartment or someplace where it was dim but lit with a kind of glow, and I think we were maybe going to go for a ride in an old convertible. and you had glasses on. but then so does the guy from the second floor. and I woke up wanting to write you about it, but knowing that there really wasn't any point to that.