Garbage.
Wet, hot garbage.
Steamy little transparent tendrils of filthy moisture snaking toward the sky.
That's how I felt.
Etiquette for an Apocalypse
12 years ago
Fruits From A Tree In Many Seasons
Garbage.
Wet, hot garbage.
Steamy little transparent tendrils of filthy moisture snaking toward the sky.
That's how I felt.
Penned by Noah Champion at 10:34
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