“My fingers are blistered and they smell like lighter fluid— like burnt tin foil and rusted silverware. Quick question: Is it still considered heroin chic if I’m actually using heroin? No? Whatever.” — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
The idyllic mayhem of two cultures colliding just doesn't seem as funny anymore. — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“There is stability in self-destruction, in prolonging sadness as a means of escaping abstractions like happiness. Rock bottom is a surprisingly comfortable place to… — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“Two sad eyes and one skanky smile, I practically pulse with the promise of promiscuity. I'm easy to catch, but too slippery to hold… — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“Dead Prez is playing on the car’s stereo, telling me that it’s bigger than Hip-Hop, but I beg to differ.” — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“I drink Coke-zero while I score coke from an honors student in Huntington Beach.” — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“There's a weight in the room now, a remembrance of childhood. It sinks like a stone, or a heart, or my weight on a… — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“...stars are dying all the time. Some explode. Some collapse and cave in on themselves. Those ones become black holes. Others get sucked up… — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“The homeless dudes on Alameda all have legs any runway model would kill for, and sometimes I think of giving them money, but— I… — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“I’ll see my nakedness as an advantage, attempt use my body as leverage. That will work for a little while.” — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
“Repression is dangerous. It makes anvils of memories and drops them from impossible heights when you least expect it.” — Kris Kidd Copy Share Image
