Obsessões.

Obsessões, cafés (o meu com vodka, por favor) e cigarros.

"You say you don't love me over a cup of coffee. I smoke your brand of cigarettes and pray that you might give me a call. I lie around in bed all day just staring at the walls. Hanging around in bars at night wishing I was never been born and give myself to anyone who wants to take me home. So, no, of course we can't be friends, not while I'm still this obsessed. My friends all say they're worried: I look far to skinny.

I took a cup of coffee to prove that you don't love."


— Phil, sua bitch, você e seus dramas e suas cantoras dramáticas e escandalosas e roqueirinhas e pianistas ruivas dramáticas e drogadas e sua boemia. Sou o Phil, sou uma bitch.
— Sim, always good for a drama. Always good for a storm. This is cooling...

Oh, fuck de 28 créditos. Faz tanto tempo que não perco tempo na minha cama. And here you come again, you lie those pretty lies.

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.

You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

Oh, no, you don't care, you don't care a bit.

Oh, tá ligado, tive uma boa notícia: perdi dois quilos! É o que dá bater o carro, totally parar de comer e fumar o dia inteiro: di-e-ta!

I think something is burning.

Now you ruined the whole thing!

Que nada, hoje eu quero encher a cara, piranhar e cai na porrada com alguém! I guess.
"I see you car parked on the road, the light on at your window. I know for sure that you're home..."





— PHIL, SUA BITCH! — proclama Claudia Vargas.