All writers do is eat Chinese takeout at four in the morning and write about love, so I guess; I'm a writer.
Except I just finished writing about us having sex in the back of your car and I'm eating cold pizza with cold fucking coffee.
Oh yeah, and staring at your underwear because they somehow got in my bag. Jeez how much sleep have I missed to bring these home?
Don't worry, I wanted the sex, and your underwear apparently. I just didn't want this cold coffee, or for you to leave town again.
Hey, I'll call you back, cause I'm a writer now and I've gotta get back to work. *forced chuckle* get home safe.