So tired, and yet the desire to straddle the streets. Tumbling down stairs and ending up on west thirst street with dear friends and dear giggles. Lethal martinis and revisiting the late nineties as though they were ages ago and nowadays, they are. Morton street swims upon returns and how soft the pillows.
There is no moral to this story.
That is the beauty of Friday night.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment