fragile

I just fainted at the Duane Reade on Fifth Avenue.

When I came to, a man with expensive shoes hailed me a cab. I cried all the way home. If the baby jesus and I were still on good terms, I’d be inclined to take the matter up with him. But as it stands, I think I’ll just go lie down.

And fuck what the movies say, people. You fall forward when you faint.

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