(no subject)
Sunday was F1 racing and drawing pictures. It was greasy spoon food, hashbrownstoasteggsketchupsaltandpepper. Sunday was flannel shirt and Rolling Stones t shirt and sweatpants. Sunday was Mad Men and cigarettes and Thai food for dinner. Sunday was ginger green tea kisses and a ginger arms around me. Sunday wassss colored pencils and lit tracing tables and more Mad Men. Sunday was word of the loss of a dear friend, and Sunday was living. Sunday was walking down Hawthorne in the morning air, sharing coffee, sunglasses and cynical exchanges of endearment, cuddling and chocolate cupcakes in bed.
Sunday was life.
Sunday was perfect.
Sunday was life.
Sunday was perfect.