It’s raining.
And today is the one day this year I’ll make an honest-to-god forecast. It’s like Christmas, the one day of the year you have to like your relatives. Or Valentine’s Day, the one day you have to be romantic. Or Guy Fawkes Day, the one day of the year you remember why the American Revolution worked, because we’re not British.
Thursday’s Forecast: It’s not raining.
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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”
