In your new leather jacket, you’re somebody else. It’s not nice to meet you in a fortress of self. Thanks to your new leather jacket, we’re nobodies now. Pack of cigarettes, I empty out. I miss the way we talked before you went away to school. Now all you seem to say is “Baby, how could it be you?” I hate the way you’re leaning and you’re looking at your phone. I hate the way I feel like dying when I’m alone.