SO WHAT. Deal with it. It won't stop probably so deal with it or haha nevermind silly, just move on to something else. Who gives a **** about headphones advertisements in the middle of hypnotizing music from her stores? The larder is – behind that door – you can't enter no matter how hard you try, that is music there. There's nothing physical, no floors no walls no just music and you can open the door. What you hear won't make sense and it will blot out all other senses but there she is striding past me and walks inside.
because that's where she belongs. This is not my comprehension. In she went, and I will never see her again but hear her as she has infiltrated the realm of organized sound to contribute to the beautiful lustful chaos. She has only just begun, I realize. There is no end, though there was a beginning; she has fractured infinity casually as sipping water from tea cups in faux-innocent sunlight filtered through a hangover on something you're pretty sure was called a veranda but that's more a polite curiosity than a serious one so you content yourself to take in this retrospectively invented image of her in Ray Bans and anything but pants with her scars embossed and tattoos in a rare moment of silence preceding the moment of sound where she asks why you're looking at her like that, and you hadn't realized you'd done it again, shifted to the future you reflecting on the present moment to grasp the intangible, to outline the undefined to alter the fixed and whatever other paradoxes you happen to be causing at the time because you've accidentally, temporarily transcended again, so you're really just along for the ride with your pretty little thoughts of her and this veranda or whatever while she's smoking a cigarette you offered her so enjoy it while it lasts. Whatever you do, enjoy it while it lasts, and go easy on yourself, you're just a kid after all, remember. Remember. and don't forget
Skip the first half of the first block of words. Or don't.