he was only 23

so we're at jones beach. i'm reading 'period'. i get a text from hf.

this kid i kind of know died yesterday. his name is paul. he was a close friend of one of my good friends from high school; they met at university. so i didn't know him that well, just from parties and stuff.

he was swimming. he had a massive heart attack and died. he was 23. twenty-fucking-three.

later i go to a gig in brooklyn. i don't know barely anyone there and spend half the time hiding outside, reading 'god, jr' on a stoop a couple doors down, waiting to hear back from a couple of other kids i'm meant to be meeting in w'burg afterwards. i feel retarded for hiding and not going in. i still can't quite get my head round paul.

today i'm super sunburnt. i think the ocean washed off the factor 25 i put on - and i forgot to cover my legs (stupid. i've had this fair skin my whole life, you'd think i'd know by now).

two dennis cooper books in one day. now i'm off work sick (sunstroke/burn) and i have nothing to read. a trip to the beach. an hilarious conversation with a little boy on the LIRR back about superheroes ("that dark bader was a baaad customer. i'm gonna be batman for hawwoween.") i have to write a five minute speech for - well, tonight but as i'm out sick i'm trying to change my class till tmrw - and i don't know what to talk about. flights back to the UK for $500, only i'm $300 short of that.

and life is so finite and short and fucked up and he was only twenty three and had so much ahead of him and now what?