Last night I was pleasantly drunk and I shot a cork from a 9% beer called "Fin du Monde" up a girl's skirt. She seemed to enjoy the experience.
Direct quote from cute smoking girl I walked by on my way for delicious crepes to quell the hangover blues:
"Hey mohawk boy! I love those shoes!"
It's good to be back in Montreal for a few days where people yell my name/at me from the streets, I feel myself, and things make sense again.
Direct quote from cute smoking girl I walked by on my way for delicious crepes to quell the hangover blues:
"Hey mohawk boy! I love those shoes!"
It's good to be back in Montreal for a few days where people yell my name/at me from the streets, I feel myself, and things make sense again.
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Just mentioning it because, y'know, it was cool seeing you, and it sucks that the times we planned to go dancing never worked out.
This message sucks. It's late. I should sleep. Your hair is almost vermilion. Delerium sets in. Blahblahblah.