Weird times, breaking up times are cruel because you feel almost as if you're falling in love. You lose yourself thinking fondly about your girl and then suddenly you realize you just kissed her goodbye. You want to run back and fix things, but how far back do you have to run? Weeks? Months? Years? And running through it all in your mind, all the painful things also return and rise up to the surface.

On my back was a pile of old, moldy, ripped up bits of punk stuff that needed soaking. Clothes mostly, plus a few books and magazines. I'd cleared my things out of her room. I could smell her though, still, on Shattuck Avenue, soaked into my clothes. I loved that smell, deep and lusty like a campfire and roasting coffee. But I had to wash it out or my heart would break right there on the street and I'd cry into a big pile of dirty socks. It's the off things that get you. The art cars that drive by all wacky when you're trying to fight. The camera car drives past and takes your picture. Life is cruel.
Cometbus #47, "Lanky."