On the train, a woman with vinegary puckered lips sits, reads. Leans her head against the vibrating metal side panel. Her newspaper crinkling with the passing bumps of the train; she is filling in the letters of a four letter word for carbonated drinks. Olivia sits, blue, five seats up with no scarf and her same blue hooded sweatshirt. ( Read more... )

if olivia is me, can we both agree that I don't, and WILL NEVER, have bangs like that ( Read more... )

my lollopalooza fund is underneath the perfume box in my room.

you capitalized the "g".

hold on to your pretty apples, and they will rot in your hands reminds me of a really good passage on pomegranate trees i read once.