nothing i say is correct or write.
windows open, more commonly used to destroy cigarette smell, but once upon a time, it's purpose was to tell stories. and we did, on a matress, letting sun settle in our skin. feet hanging out began a relationship with the word "fuck" used to such an extent. nothing compared to the left hand lane, yellow corvette, initiation, but i still smiled through the brick day-glo fashion icon. once, it was called a transistor radio. and i was called twiggy. all this happened long, long ago. when people were happy. turn, look, sullen, turn. model, walk the plank.