Sex, Drugs, and Tilly and the Wall
We wanna pass out in your yard.
I love when Steve knocks on my back door at 2 a.m. and tells me that he almost hit a zebra on the way over.
My body aches from jiving. My face is numb from lack of sleep and I can’t wash that smiley face I drew with paint marker off my stomach. My ears ring from loudmusic, and I’m almost positive I’ve lost my sense of smell. I spent all my money on magazines, cds, and fabric markers. Somehow this was still one of the greatest weekends of all time. And somehow I’m still full of angst. It might be because I wake up in the middle of the night and funk out when I realize I’m terrified of my future. Or maybe I listen to too much Marilyn Monroe. Not to mention dancing too much.
Or maybe it's all the pie.
whoa
(^that's dough)
whoa!
