Friday, July 31, 2020
The good thing about the past is nobody remembers it. The bad thing is that you do. So in public, there is the mythologizing and heroizing of what happened and to whom, but in private, at the worst possible times, there is the sting of things gone wrong. Whiskey, I'm afraid, seems to aid both.
She was more than lovely. She was impossible. And yet, there she was,
Posted by cafe selavy at 2:31 PM
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