These things happen.

“Young people, they want the whole world.”
Deliver me from Swedish furniture.
Deliver me from clever art.
And the phone rang, and Tyler answered.
“If you don’t know what you want,” The Doorman said, “you end up with a lot you don’t”
May I never be complete.
May I never be content.
May I never be perfect.
Deliver me, Tyler, from being perfect and complete.
Tyler and I agreed to meet at a bar.
The Doorman asked for a number where the police could reach me. It was still raining. My Audi was still parked in the lot, but a Dakapo halogen torchiere was speared through the windshield.
Tyler and I, we met and drank a lot of beer, and Tyler said yes, I could move in with him, but I would have to do him a favor.
The next day, my suitcase would arrive with the mare minimum, six shirts, six pairs of underwear.
There, drunk in a bar where no one was watching, and no one would care, I asked Tyler what he wanted me to do.
Tyler said, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”