Open Source Is The Equivelent Of An Open Heart
I suppose I ought to update this since I'm directing Xanga users here.
You want to know what the hell is wrong with me!? I'll fucking tell you! Two friends of mine attempted suicide this weekend. One succeeded. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing to us?
So yeah, I'm pissed and depressed and confused and angry and sappy and everything else. Want me to top it? Yeah, Andrew is mad at ME because Amanda wanted to be the first to tell me about these suicides. HE WANTED TO BE FIRST! I can't even continue on that subject. Read something to get away from this awfulness that is my life.
Redness in cheeks and paleness in all the rest, she came in from the thunderous downpour. Lacy skirt pasted to her goosebump-ed legs with heavy water. A blue zippered hoddie toned three shades down with dampness. She scurries to the nearest open seat at the breakfast bar, trying to soak in the heat from the grill. "I'll have some tea, and lots of napkins" She says trying to brush beads of water off her clothing. She pulls her hood back to reveal her water-matted brunette hair. She looks to both sides, then wildly shakes her head, trying to lessen the weight of her sopping hair. The tea arrives. And a stack of paper towels next to it. She smiles with gratitude towards the balding fry-cook. She takes a quick sip of the white-whisping tea and then grabs at the stack of towels. She hurriedly swipes at her limbs and face, trying to get as much of the wetness from her body. She takes her hoodie off and asks the cook if he could put it near the grill. He obliges, and she gives him another smile. Her yellow tee-shirt is also quite wet, so much so that the outline of her bra is apparent. Men in the restaurant take quick glances. The old man on her left gives a not-a-subtle one. She just giggles. She finishes her tea and asks for her hoodie back. When she's all dressed, she puts a few dampened bills on the counter, and pulls up her hood. A man in a very wet, very black hoodie rushes in. "C'mon! The rain just picked up again!" He yells to her. She runs for the door, and turns back to the fry-cook as she leans out the open door. "I just needed a break during the slow rain. You can't pass up a good string rain!" And she was gone as fast as she had been.
Oddly enough...this passage calms me. Eh...I'm getting soft.
You want to know what the hell is wrong with me!? I'll fucking tell you! Two friends of mine attempted suicide this weekend. One succeeded. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing to us?
So yeah, I'm pissed and depressed and confused and angry and sappy and everything else. Want me to top it? Yeah, Andrew is mad at ME because Amanda wanted to be the first to tell me about these suicides. HE WANTED TO BE FIRST! I can't even continue on that subject. Read something to get away from this awfulness that is my life.
Redness in cheeks and paleness in all the rest, she came in from the thunderous downpour. Lacy skirt pasted to her goosebump-ed legs with heavy water. A blue zippered hoddie toned three shades down with dampness. She scurries to the nearest open seat at the breakfast bar, trying to soak in the heat from the grill. "I'll have some tea, and lots of napkins" She says trying to brush beads of water off her clothing. She pulls her hood back to reveal her water-matted brunette hair. She looks to both sides, then wildly shakes her head, trying to lessen the weight of her sopping hair. The tea arrives. And a stack of paper towels next to it. She smiles with gratitude towards the balding fry-cook. She takes a quick sip of the white-whisping tea and then grabs at the stack of towels. She hurriedly swipes at her limbs and face, trying to get as much of the wetness from her body. She takes her hoodie off and asks the cook if he could put it near the grill. He obliges, and she gives him another smile. Her yellow tee-shirt is also quite wet, so much so that the outline of her bra is apparent. Men in the restaurant take quick glances. The old man on her left gives a not-a-subtle one. She just giggles. She finishes her tea and asks for her hoodie back. When she's all dressed, she puts a few dampened bills on the counter, and pulls up her hood. A man in a very wet, very black hoodie rushes in. "C'mon! The rain just picked up again!" He yells to her. She runs for the door, and turns back to the fry-cook as she leans out the open door. "I just needed a break during the slow rain. You can't pass up a good string rain!" And she was gone as fast as she had been.
Oddly enough...this passage calms me. Eh...I'm getting soft.