Is it my imagination, or do there appear to be sporadic pockets of Spring around town lately, suddenly and for some peculiar reason jumping the seasonal gun?
Crazy Moon Lingo
You’re furious. I never taught you to sing. You carry rocks in your head and pitch them. Without warning. Happy drunk. You’re furious. I beg you for sin. I beg your skin. You buy a whore. Don’t give her water. You’re furious.
