Adonis v. Adonis
I'm starting off! Let's run this shit into the ground, alizep !
Also, this wanted to be something bigger, but I had to reign it in! I have a feeling it's not going to get good until your Adonis appears.
Adonis vs Adonis
Ace woke up rather late, which suited him just fine, since he didn’t have to get up at any particular time like the rest of the stupid sheep with nine to fives. Plus he had stayed for ratatat’s entire set, which was alright, even though it was getting boring and stupid after “Shemp!”. Too many wannabes.
The girl sleeping next to him still smelled faintly of scotch, and he shook her awake, hoping that she wouldn’t be too much drama. Suicide Girls always were.
She was petite, Korean, with a short, tight pixie cut and cherry blossoms tattooed down her neck, chest, and stomach. But as he climbed on top of her again, he squeezed his eyes shut and imagined a different girl in his mind’s eye: soft, scented blond hair, china blue eyes, skin like porcelain.
Currently a yuppie-fucking, sellout whore.
Afterwards, the short girl pulled on her Chuck Taylors and hinted awkwardly at going to get some organic curry, but he put on some breakcore and other noisy shit on vinyl and told her he was too busy. He had work to do on his new guerilla piece: airbrushing “TORTURE MEMOS” to all newspaper machines in the city, and then attending a socially-conscious art house film festival that his friend was putting on, then updating his blog, and ending with seeing either Extra Golden for some much-needed afropop, or Dinosaur Jr. for old time’s sake. Both were getting pretty corporate, maybe he could check out that new indie band that was playing in a friend’s garage tonight.
So he showed the girl (Sung? Soong? Soo-yin?) the door, smoked a Parliament (American Spirit was just getting too fucking corporate), and showered quickly, making sure to apply enough Aveda control paste in his hair to get perfect hold and enough scent.
What to wear? Tight straight legs, for sure, “Free Mumia” t-shirt, American Apparel hoodie. Scarf. Puffy vintage ski jacket. Vintage Pumas, purchased at the Salvation Army (Goodwill was getting too corporate). A terry headband he stole at a Dead Milkmen show.
He was on his second Parliament, and debating whether to pick up some macrobiotic takeout or just head straight to Starbucks (not too corporate yet), when he heard something stir in his closet.
He put down his iPhone to go take a look.
.
Also, this wanted to be something bigger, but I had to reign it in! I have a feeling it's not going to get good until your Adonis appears.
Adonis vs Adonis
Ace woke up rather late, which suited him just fine, since he didn’t have to get up at any particular time like the rest of the stupid sheep with nine to fives. Plus he had stayed for ratatat’s entire set, which was alright, even though it was getting boring and stupid after “Shemp!”. Too many wannabes.
The girl sleeping next to him still smelled faintly of scotch, and he shook her awake, hoping that she wouldn’t be too much drama. Suicide Girls always were.
She was petite, Korean, with a short, tight pixie cut and cherry blossoms tattooed down her neck, chest, and stomach. But as he climbed on top of her again, he squeezed his eyes shut and imagined a different girl in his mind’s eye: soft, scented blond hair, china blue eyes, skin like porcelain.
Currently a yuppie-fucking, sellout whore.
Afterwards, the short girl pulled on her Chuck Taylors and hinted awkwardly at going to get some organic curry, but he put on some breakcore and other noisy shit on vinyl and told her he was too busy. He had work to do on his new guerilla piece: airbrushing “TORTURE MEMOS” to all newspaper machines in the city, and then attending a socially-conscious art house film festival that his friend was putting on, then updating his blog, and ending with seeing either Extra Golden for some much-needed afropop, or Dinosaur Jr. for old time’s sake. Both were getting pretty corporate, maybe he could check out that new indie band that was playing in a friend’s garage tonight.
So he showed the girl (Sung? Soong? Soo-yin?) the door, smoked a Parliament (American Spirit was just getting too fucking corporate), and showered quickly, making sure to apply enough Aveda control paste in his hair to get perfect hold and enough scent.
What to wear? Tight straight legs, for sure, “Free Mumia” t-shirt, American Apparel hoodie. Scarf. Puffy vintage ski jacket. Vintage Pumas, purchased at the Salvation Army (Goodwill was getting too corporate). A terry headband he stole at a Dead Milkmen show.
He was on his second Parliament, and debating whether to pick up some macrobiotic takeout or just head straight to Starbucks (not too corporate yet), when he heard something stir in his closet.
He put down his iPhone to go take a look.
.