consider this:



bullets, no socks.



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d-r-u-g-s spells "saturday."

but not in reality, because really, nothing happened.

nicotine affects me still, and alcohol, i love you. it's my corner to curl up in and see to the sound and fury, to be alone (but i never am), and to laugh a laugh of a bulletproof cupid. simplicity. and i'm all about waking up heavy. girls and i go together like razors and warm water. perfect recipe for slitting yr wrists.

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this weekend was a busy one, i didn't learn much, except that taylor claims that i don't know how to smoke a joint. ker-razy, buddy. and i drove again...for the first time in three years. first in the cemetary, where i got back into the hang of it. and then into the deserted sam's parking lot - with cones and taylor - for the maneuverability test. which i got after my fourth try.

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go

little rekkid

go

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once upon a time

she said

that it was like something

that she would have written

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