So says my grandmother at the speculative last. In her kitchen as never-dying-deathbed, waiting waiting like a lover or Candy Darling esque. No that's not what this here is about.
Only that she is correct, insofar as for a we that includes myself, cracked too is my povre shape of whatever you would call this period. A snow cone that is a flower, on fire, coals, bleary...
No comments:
Post a Comment