Thrift store men's shoes, 5 euro.
Super glue from Kardstadt, 3 something euro.
New fabulous kicks: all mine





I'm incredibly fucking tactile.
And I love the well loved, smoothed and softened by my eager hand oils, the felt marker marked and heavily creased (like crows feet, like smile wrinkles, like old person stories) subway map I keep tucked away in my canvas bag.
I also prefer the feel of books to the whitey haze of Online.
I love the cool complacent texture of marble.
And the audacity of fur. Possessed by animal or rug or whatnot.
I love a good earlobe, a pleasant dollop of flesh.
Sometimes I feel like my years have been stripped away from me, as moments strike me with little fistfuls of bottomless awe.