SmokeLong Quarterly

There was the one boyfriend who took pride in not organizing his thousands of record albums. The others had systems—by type, by last name, chronological. But this one just said, “I know where every single one is.” He said, “I love pop music.” He said, “Little girls just fall in love with me.” He said, “I’m trying to give you love.” He said, “I’m worried about my sister.” He said, “I’ll never stop smoking.” He said, “Go ahead. Pick one, any one that you want to play.”