“I think you're exciting,” she said in an unexcited way.
Kate Hudson or a Gossip Girl but definitely not the fat Kardashian. She wore super tight jeans as her long bare legs walked down the New York City catwalk. Fashion Week, bleeding out onto free tickets that she'd fashioned. Fashioned from fashion, an old magazine clipping. Fashion. New press, old pictures of Johnny Depp, now free passes for winners. Skinny models in Resin Denim skipping the line. Tall, loose rock n' roll sluts. Giveaways for the lust, lusty lusting kids. She gave away nothing, but expertly, she gave away something. Nothing: Something, Something: Nothing. She ran away with the music on, loud, mouth kisses of dirty sexy, beads of sweat, running, now completely naked. She quoted Breakfast at Tiffany's. She cocked her head to the left. She screamed out to the teenage wasteland.
"@LA @NYC @DJ's @party @MiLK!"
Huge party, big parties, house parties, block parties, dancing, bangs and fangs
fucking
trouble and stubble.
Nailing, nailed, long nails, high heels, lips, lipstick. Tits, ass. Driving, hot slick cars. Running, laughing, hysterical, funny, amazing, incredible, drinking alcohol, smoking cigarettes, drugs, awesome, epic, singing, making. Taking a dive, getting wet. Boyfriends, girlfriends, living, loving, love, so many loves. She knew of a lonely, beautiful girl who spent too much time with her cat. The Passion of the Ashton, Rihanna, Gaga, Bruno Mars, straight, gay,
she'd had sex with them all. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. "I think you're really exciting" she said, in an unexcited way.
