A million mile of running and
I hit the wall,
I bounce right back and I run some more.
But this is it, I’m giving up,
I’m calling it quits.
So get down and meet on the floor.
Way to go, way to flip off everyone.
I steal your thunder then I try to bolt.
But I could stand a little pity now and then.
Nineties women were hotter. Women today dress in their gym and yoga pants, but you’re not fooling anyone. Today, I saw a girl. No more than fifteen. Wearing something too long for a shirt, but too short for a dress. A cross between with stockings. She kept tugging the damn thing to cover her crotch. Never been one to say that a woman should dress in a presentable way, but this was just an inch of just going outside in just a t-shirt and underwear.
At work, a patron, female, no more than her late thirties, darts directly toward the juvenile fiction only to approach us a few minutes later. Her face is a ghostly grey. Like she had a bout with a powder puff and lost.Because under that ozone of white powder lay a shade of natural brown. When will Latin women leave behind all that Anglo envy? Brown is beautiful, dears.
Knowing I had to go to work aside, I woke up in a good mood this morning. Well, a better mood. I’m far from sunshine and gum drops type of person. I went to work. I worked. I went home to my son. We played. I returned to my house. I took a jog. I’m invigorated. And this is a game changer.
Chapin City Blues 