803. To Be With You
Shit. Why did I ask him to come to St. Louis? It sure as hell wasn’t so he could watch me drop a guitar pick and almost crack a kneecap I went down so fast with a spasm in my hand so bad it felt worse than the fucking knife had.
Tag Archives: jam
791. Jam On It
“You doing okay?” He leaned in the doorway, his blond dreads hanging rakishly off his forehead, looking like the kind of beautiful tropical bird that will peck your fingers off if you stick them through its cage. “You’ve been a hermit since the incident.” The Incident of The Tequila, the Lime Knife, And The Curious […]
773. Blind Faith
I arrived in Massachusetts stubbornly clinging to the idea that I was going to be able to play the show that night even though in the very back of my mind–and probably in the front of the minds of everyone around me–there was a very real fear that my brain was going to explode. I’ll […]
761. Children
I saw stars. They looked like glowing worms burning twisty patterns in the stucco ceiling. When was the last time I came that hard? Fuck. The sound of Jam gagging jolted me awake more effectively than the orgasm itself. I was also pulling his hair kind of hard and I don’t think it was to […]