Ah...Bloody Fuck
HST, RIP
When I was 17 years old, my younger sister read a book.
This was big news in our house. My sister and I had definite roles. She was the highly popular teen who turned somewhat rebellious and eventually rather free-spirited. I was the bookish teen who turned somewhat goth and eventually rather lost. Reading books that weren’t assigned in school definitely fell under my list of duties, not hers.
My mother made great pains to tell me that she was reading a book, in the hopes of finding a way to bridge the gap between us. I found it a few days later, torn and ragged and crammed under the futon in the basement. It was called Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Read The Rest
When I was 17 years old, my younger sister read a book.
This was big news in our house. My sister and I had definite roles. She was the highly popular teen who turned somewhat rebellious and eventually rather free-spirited. I was the bookish teen who turned somewhat goth and eventually rather lost. Reading books that weren’t assigned in school definitely fell under my list of duties, not hers.
My mother made great pains to tell me that she was reading a book, in the hopes of finding a way to bridge the gap between us. I found it a few days later, torn and ragged and crammed under the futon in the basement. It was called Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Read The Rest