moshby9
"this is a real stretcher" she said, pointing to the EMC's using it to bring her grandmother to the ambulance. They didn't know that Lucy had a problem with lucid dreaming and didn't know what was real or not.
I suppose something of a nap would have been useful instead of taking two 30 mg of Ritalin in an attempt to stay alert during my Philosophy class. My professor was reminiscent of Ben Stein. In other words, I had Ferris Bueller's Economics teacher. I suppose he switched classes.
As evidenced by her coy smile and mussed hair, I could see that she'd been with my man. That and her knees were pink. There are only so many reasons why her knees would be pink and Garret's floors weren't spotlessly scrubbed.
I was pressed for time as I was pressed against the wall. Conflicts pressed and weighed in my mind. And for the first time, I felt the humanity squeezed out of me in my boyfriend's hug.
Port's good, rum's better. And on those really chilly nights, I like scotch with my fire. Alcoholic beverages make some of the best lighter fluid I've ever used in my pyromania.
Everything was played in my mind like an old-fashined 20's shootout. Two captains, shooting each other over turf. Except there were no guns and no one was wearing a zoot suit. Just two jealous girls fighting over a tall blonde.
Taking into account all that has happened, a margarita at the end of the day isn't such a bad thing. Accounting for the margaritas is completely different. It would take a sober accountant to add up the numbers.
Rally me together
Sally forth, my good man
Stiff upper lip, chin up, feet forward
Armies crumble for you
I traded away my childhood, one pokemon card at a time, in exchange for a boyfriend, my own apartment, and the experience of growing up. Then I wrote a play about it and I traded my personal experience and soulful work for public opinion and money. Then I traded obscurity for fame and fortune. And with my new salary (that I got by trading compassion for the ability to bite) I bought a 2-pack of pokemon cards for my 5 year old son.
My ballet mom hovered over me like some sort of vulture. Waiting for me to mess up so she could correct me, waiting for me to be perfect so she could praise me. She did everything for me, including living.
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