Stringy hair plastered. The year is 1998. There is black construction paper in the windows.
Stringy hair plastered. The year might be 1998. There is a treasure chest filled with my vomit; I remain pathetic.
And you're empathetic?
Well, the glasses get thicker and the frames get thinner, and suddenly, 9 years are gon e. Good Ole MacDougall thought souls weighed 21 g, but I'm sure his weighed more.
Why can't I be done with this?