Taylor Collier
Boring Person
I’m the most boring person I know,
but that doesn’t mean I haven’t found
myself fiending for weed in a stranger’s
apartment in Arlington, Texas, on New
Year’s Eve talking to some can’t-quit-
scratching-herself tweaker-dealer’s skin-
head bodyguard, who, just at the point
where I assume I’ve made enough of
an impression not to leave a lasting one,
points with the toe of his boot at the two
bullet-holes in the floor and starts in
about how his brother pawned the wrong
gun, how it doesn’t matter because
he’s headed for prison anyway, and
how no one’s slept in three days, which
could account for the way both their
eyes da
Boring Person
I’m the most boring person I know,
but that doesn’t mean I haven’t found
myself fiending for weed in a stranger’s
apartment in Arlington, Texas, on New
Year’s Eve talking to some can’t-quit-
scratching-herself tweaker-dealer’s skin-
head bodyguard, who, just at the point
where I assume I’ve made enough of
an impression not to leave a lasting one,
points with the toe of his boot at the two
bullet-holes in the floor and starts in
about how his brother pawned the wrong
gun, how it doesn’t matter because
he’s headed for prison anyway, and
how no one’s slept in three days, which
could account for the way both their
eyes da