there's no point to any of this. it's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. so I take pleasure in the details. you know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt..troy dyer in reality bites.
3 comments:
happy belated b'day fren...
man....that's sweet...
didn't know you was old man...happy birthday.
Post a Comment