to dear peep. there is this place i've made for you; it's a treehouse, this big treehouse in missouri, and i want you to go there in a dream sometime. i've put these streamers on the banisters, i've put this pot on the stove, its a lacquered bowl, do you love that? the lacquered bowl? it was only a dollar, but i hope you won't sell it for a profit because lacquered bowls are hard to come by. somebody's keen for a lacquered bowl, someone somewhere. but anyway, it's your treehouse, and it's your bowl.
i've just noticed that you just like me to keep you company while you run your errands. play your games, wash your briefs, your bowls. it's true that i can't be pleased. and i can't be helped. but i can't be quiet either. you're a naughty man in many ways, and i'm only glad i've seen it now.
and to make matters worse i just lied to the happy hippies on the bridge. i did a fist in the air and hoorayed about a big lie i told. i don't know myself. peep calls me loose. and certainly it is not the kind one might think. he calls me loose insofar as to say he calls me flimsy; indulgent; irresponsible. and i suppose i am. and firstly he probably doesn't understand, but secondly i really don't need him to.