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"She bumbled on the bus with a Bukowski book-combat boots-white pants-a cool crazy shirt with Z & V multicolored patterns with strawberry blonde hair done up with pig tails and bands with a wild look in her eyes that just exuded rebellion. ‘I got like this fucking smoker's hack--I'm fucking sixteen and I'll be dead by the time I'm twenty, but it's OK--I'm down with that--It's just the price you pay for what you love I guess.'" |
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No, I didn't get a chance to do this indepth, investigative report on what's happenin' in the world of dance. (And I'm gonna finally forgive myself for it. For God's sake, living takes up a good chunk o' time.) It seems ashame to waste the cool graphics, though, so I'm gonna share these with you. Who knows; this may indeed become the way I handle my issue themes from now on (seeing as though my time doesn't seem like it's gonna free up anytime soon). |
    
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