Dancing out on 7th street
On Sunday, Mel threw me into a bush when I mentioned that I had read Dennis' blog again, of which I am strictly prohibited to think about for the sake of my emotional health.
In a lullaby.
But who's going to shoot me for reading my own blog? Archiving the ancient wedding gowns, it still reaches at my neck and drags me two years back, home.
Are you happy now?
Don't follow, I'd rather go alone.