McSweeney’s Monday

For those looking for summer love, beware this cautionary tale about a winter romance:

February 19

I met a hot guy just chillin’ in my neighbor’s front yard. He’s got to be a musician: vintage top hat, deathly sexy pale skin, and a self-destructive streak that isn’t cliché—he smokes a pipe… and it’s corncob. He’s a little chubby, but what really got me were his intense, coal-black eyes and the way he looked at me: unblinking.

This doesn’t end well.

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