The butterfly lets me take her picture because she is dying.
he is about to texas two-step just looking at her. as if true azaleas were two colorful tattoos, the one around her ring finger.
she is home, mate. just her and the desert. she drops off to sleep.
she leans over and whispers, I really wish I could take a bath.
she buys earplugs olive oil and coffee.
she wishes he would bring her guacamole.
there is a strong possibility she will be hypnotized next week.
fucking hell she wants to kill her neighbors and cry and disappear, thad be cool.
he is her best friend.
that was one of the most horrible moments of her life when she almost died and there was no one to call.
they go on a trip on a bus and have lots of sex.
joysticking every time she feels uncomfortable they have more sex everywhere.