Funny how people feel the need to get you ridiculously shitfaced on your birthday. Each year we embark on a new journey, and the first steps taken are wobbly ones.
My friends could have bought me a gift or taken me out for a nice dinner. Instead I get a dozen or so shots of J
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“dusty rusty crusty musty ass california hills”
“frowning in plaid (haunted radios, bird bones + anthropomorphized wind)”
“warming my hands on bridges i’ve burnt”
“songs that make me see god”
“My Playlist #236”
“classy wine moment and intellectual conversation”
“90s heroin chic model off duty”
“tweet tweet bird emoji map emoji”
“not my circus, not my monkeys”
“a grave is probably cheaper than an apartment”
“ATE THESE BITCHES LEFT NO CRUMBS / DID IT IN DESIGNER PUMPS”
