My Easter Eggs have a secret.
Many forgotten dreams including the possibility of an underwater musical.
Now's the time on Sprockets when we bite. People don't believe me, but I speak the truth.
An apartment was found and nailed to the ground in exactly one week. Strike that, two apartments were cuffed and collared, but one was set free.
We mingled with some sweaty mormons by the DDR machines. That arcade game with the jumping and the arrows and the shins and the archless sneakers.
Speaking of my ever-gothening wardrobe... The legitimacy of aforementioned grave mud can be confirmed by no less than two non-zombie individuals and the mysterious appearance of a shiny-as-fuck crucifix. (None of which have been bribed with Chinese food of any kind.)
I had a shifty moment with the seamstress who's hemming my bridesmaid dress. She had some words to say about my shoes. Appreciative, but creepy-crawly in that way that comes about after someone tries to dart the front of a dress all to hell when it laces up the back anyway. If I'd let her have her way, she'd have brought each strap in at least an inch and a half, while leaving the back completely untied. I would run from people if given half the chance. Don't talk about my shoes.