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