Today I was in a lecture given by some guy, and these 80-year-old ladies next to me thought the guy was named “Richard Hickey.” Then they giggled to each other, “Hee hee, Dickie Hickie.” And damn, I wish I were in the sack with an old woman right now.
Thursday’s forecast: Well, I might be, for all you know.
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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”
