|
Today I went the coffee shop. There was a beatnik who was spilling his soul to the beats of the bongos.
|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| With so much drama in the LBC..It's kinda hard... | |
 | |  |
|
 |
|
|
|
His prose touched my soul. I found his suffering intoxicating. However, I knew that soon it would run out.
|
|
|
|
| | |
| ....If you want to call me baby, just go ahead now. | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| How do I keep him creative forever? His art thrives on pain! | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
Wouldn't you know it? My one chance at being a muse turns out bad again. At the hearing, his lawyer asked why I cut off his legs?
|
|
|
|
 |
| | |
| I would plead the fifth, but the answer makes him cry so much I laugh, y'know. | |
| | |
|
|
|
