omg he let me touch his penis!!!!

In time you will be the greatest known author in the free world. You will have a private jet, one with those red velvet seats that are too expensive to be considered “tacky”. You will drink iced caramel macchiotos from Starbucks (a coorporation you are so totally against) and talk about post modernism with two guys who wear their hair in their face cause they’re too cool to look at the world. You will give interviews to fake, plastic newscasters who ask you questions like “so, how did you come up with the idea for this story?” and then stare at you blankly until you fidget, then answer. You will sign your books outside a Barnes & Noble (a corporation you are so totally against) and write generic phrases like “reach for your dreams” and “never give up”. You will laugh cynically and the fans and want to write things like “avoid AIDS”. You will live somewhere with hard wood floors and contemparay art. You will buy things to fill the void that occupies a giant neon sign with flashing likes that blink brightly, “SELLOUT SELLOUT SELLOUT SELLOUT”. You won’t call your parents enough and if they call you’ll be too high on oxy contin to have a real conversation. You’ll do that fake laugh all the time to fill in dead air. You’ll hate just as much as you did the day you started writing and you’ll live with just as much hate the day you fly in your private jet with red velvet seats nonstop from LA to New York to stay at the Hilton (a corporation you are so totally against).