camo tank- urban outfitters
acid wash shorts- american apparel
boots- old ass steve maddens
I have a chronic case of non matching socks. I don't even know how people manage to keep a pair of socks together. Who are those people? Show them to me. Line them up so I may shake their hands, each one. They are probably the same people who get a pimple and DON'T fuck it with it til they've made a scabby pussy mess. And probably the same people who never forget to shave their armpits and who NEVER have weird razor rash bikini line on beach day and who always remember to eat breakfast. Like seriously who are these women? I wanna meet them and study their ways.
There are (including Carl) SEVEN dogs in my apartment, one cat, and three humans, so Carl and I have been hiding out in the air conditioned patioed solace of a pal's Hollywood hills apartment.
Oh, the title of this post is a line from something I wrote recently.
Thought it was fitting what with my old ass Steve Maddens strapped to my feet.
...here's an excerpt:
i stomp around like a motherfucker
little black boots telling floorboards
"i'm small but i'm here,
cheeky little fuck.
a pick pocket
leave the money
take your lint
but your ear for the wonder of a
what does a stranger in a library taste of.
i am not here for signatures.
Have a happy weekend chippies!