california chillwave
acquire currency. stay hungry.

inezandvinoodh
Mansur Gavriel, black bucket bag with flamma - the bag that haunts my dreams at night.
 

sometimes, the best encounters are the impromptu kind.

the ones where both parties decided last minute, ‘meet me at this cafe since i’m bumming here already and you’re bumming out at home…so why not?’ 

with a smiley face - she hit ‘send,’ feeling the euphoria of anticipation. of making a connection with a stranger she’s never met, only having pieced together who he was from a few paragraphs off the internet.

as she waited for him to show up, she wrote a few more sentences of her paper, but the effort was half-hearted. an impromptu date, with an attractive stranger - a welcome distraction from the paper, due in a couple of hours. 

he walked in some time later, all blue eyes and long limbs and tousled dirty-blondish, lightish-brown hair and Warby Parker horn-rimmed glasses. 

and a boyish smile, that made her heart beat. 

she’d seen him approaching the cafe out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look up until he’d smiled at her and waved goofily through the window.

her heart beating a little faster, lips slowly erupting into a smile - something that everyone had always appreciated about her, though she didn’t whip it out often. 

he didn’t know what it was that compelled him to slur his words and ask her, “do you want to get out of here,” but whatever it was, it did and here they were, two near-strangers, walking down a dark street, talking about their lives as if they had known each other for more than all of 3 days and 3 hours.

she didn’t know what allowed her to let go of her inhibitions and to follow this stranger home and just trust that he wouldn’t do anything sinister, but she had a suspicion that it might have to do with the alcohol and the yearning for intimacy that had stealthily, steadily grown for the past few months. 

at any rate, he unlocked the door and led her through the back of the house he shared with two other people. he apologized for the lack of a front door and excused himself to the washroom, while she waited and perused his vinyl collection. when he returned, she smiled at him and drily commented on his decor - a Chinese porcelain mug there, a painting of Justin Bieber on his bookshelf, bought ironically for his own birthday gift one year. 

he drank in the smell of her scent, closed his eyes, and leaned forward for a kiss.

in the split second before their lips met, she wondered if it’d be better to bow out now and end the night the way it was. 

inezandvinoodh:

Now! Kisses iv

want to be there
analolaroman:

Lately.

…I’ve been thinking more and more about you
someday i’ll visit this bridge
nickkahler:

Bret Easton Ellis, “Patrick Bateman's Business Card" American Psycho, 1991 (via scilianrail)

That’s bone. And the lettering is something called Silian Rail.
roxalnesister:

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