jazztheripper

The wind was shouting to my windows. Fog. At this 17th floor air prison.

Thousands of words to write, about unintelligible topics. No sleep for days. Seen no one.

To make matters worse, I just want to be frivolous, spend money, feel pleasure, have power, be decadent, be unknown.

So, I played Miles Davis. I dressed up. I opened a bottle of Cabernet Savignon, and I signed in Suicide Girls.

So, here we are. Vices were created to be shared.

We might have bad times, but we definitely have a good taste.

Bye