I'm talking to your dad. We're standing outside your house. I'm looking in through your window and you seem to be having a hard time with your blouse, but you're having a hard time with everything these days. Your grandma said "Annie, they'll take you away if you put just one more hole into your ear or saying in your skin." Something thoughtful, but off the cuff. We both know that you could neither stick nor poke quite hard enough to keep a well-read phrase defined for longer than a few hot showers' time. The blood and ink danced a ballet around the drain.
Your restlessness abides; it keeps you lukewarm at night. One eye on your clock, four minutes fast, to be sure your promptness shimmers unsurpassed. Steady sinking feeling, doing well concealing. Never so distracted as you are.
"Mr. Edward, it's good to see you again. I hope everything is alright with the councilman, I hear on the news all the time he can be a real jerk. Anyway, I'll see you next time."
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I love mom jeans. It immerses myself in those unforgettable feelings and makes me weep, and I smile as the trumpet starts to play. How wonderful. zhangzhanglang