Leave town. Now. Because everyone is. Everyone. Even my neighbor’s hamster, seriously.
I’m not leaving, mind you. DP on Thanksgiving weekend is as big, if not bigger, than Halloween, but with a smaller police presence. Or maybe I’m thinking of Wal-Mart. Or Orange County. Regardless, it was a pretty wild time last year, wherever the hell I was.
Tuesday’s forecast: Party at the mall this Friday, 6 a.m.
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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”
