Tomorrow I cut my hair. My last night as a shaggy-haired weirdo. To commemorate the occasion, I took my ‘fro for one last jog around the neighborhood. I’ve grown fond of the way it clings to my face when I’m sweating, as if my face produces some sort of follicle adhesive. The way random strands playfully smack me in the eyeball when I’m driving
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it was the only way people could tell one bill from the other.
except for the height difference.
and different looks.
and voices.
and everything else.
but still, it made things nice and country simple, it did.
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we were out at the bar and didn't get your message until late, sorry we didn't call you back. oh, and i can't get a live journal without a code (which you should be able to provide) or money. i like to hoard money.
your sister
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You should come and look at it, however
Due to technological difficulties,
The first entry posted three times
Fin
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