It's sort of like a lengthy, verbose blind item.

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        In the dim cherry light of the bar, he closes his eyes tight, leans forward on his narrow little feet and coos about the woman who left him hanging. His fingers are so fast on the strings of his banjo that they seem impossible, even though he stops every few seconds to shake his head at some imagined mistake. He leans so far over the

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[piedpiper]

hey, i followed you over from fatshionista. obviously, you're awesome. mind if i add? nice to meet you, pretty.

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You seem really awesome, too! Your writing is so fantastic. I'm adding you.

P.S. I know how tired you must be of talking about it, so please take this briefly or not at all, but I'm really sorry about your mom. Really sorry.