jason turner once spent an entire evening trying to pick hiself up from a bar.

he took his usual stool, where he could be close to the mirror- behind the various bottles of booze. He took all night to compliment his reflections sense of style, laughing with himself at a variety of witticisms, even going so far as to attempt to reach out and touch the beautiful man before him. He drank until his reflection looked drunk enough to invite home with him, and it looked like he had it in the bag, but found that when he went outside, and the cool spring air brushed a wave of sobriety over him, that he was alone.

his tears broke my heart that night, as he crawled into bed beside me, and i got inside of his sweet, sweet hole.