It's a bad idea. Of course. I most love my bad ideas. It involves you, of course. And something I can't take back. What makes this idea a bad one. Is it the irreversibility. Is it the momentum. Does that scare me. How actuality eradicates possibility. Even if you like my idea, it could still play out explosively. Bang. Up in flames or slow burn. Either way. This thought terrifies and excites me. I try so hard to be good. Sometimes I can do it. When I concentrate very hard. Until I get restless, or sleepy. Either way. I start to stir. Gears start turning. They can't go in reverse. I found out. It is impossible to sleep easy here. This polite little town. Plain as potatoes. All that snow awakens something carnal in me. Seriously this place is paltry as hell. And really just a lake of blank faces. A roster of common names: Jennifers. Sarahs. Carolines. Makes me want to do something else. I start getting all kinds of ideas. You seem equally brash. Are you in the mood to burn something down. I know how. Want to see. Laurens. Emilys. Katies. Makes me want to open all the windows. Every door. Let's do something. Different. Take me somewhere. When it's dark out. Black vinyl. LED moon. I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor. Can I make you laugh tonight. Forget about before. Rachels. Jessicas. Amandas. Once they're open, they don't just close. The doors, I mean. You know how they say floodgates. Might result in a bang b-b-bang-go. I should not have looked. But I'm looking. Should we. Should we. Annas. Sophies. Marys. Their dishwater hair. Knockoff coats. Banal bird tattoos. Even the snow is muddy. I'm bored. I've been thinking about you. It gives me ideas. It gives me nightmares. Either way. Should we. Should we. What do you think about. When you are tired. When you are in your house. Should we. Should we. Will we. Do you want to. Tell me. Will we.