I lay on the couch cocooned in a blanket. Alternating between feverish shivering (illness) and euphoric weeping (Springsteen live on the television machine), I tried to decide if I was delirious. I couldn't come to a conclusion.
The only thing I knew for sure: Next time I get sick, I'm hiring a cool-skinned lady to caress my forehead and fetch me water. What's the going rate for that anyway?
Listen to This: The Race To Ban Abortion
2 years ago
1 comment:
FUCK Springsteen. Seriously. He's old. Sorry.
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