more than anything, i think i'll miss the orgies.
getting dressed, taking the elevator up to the fancy suites at the waldorf astoria. buffet of cake / champagne / cocaine. there's nothing like it.
i have this fantasy of buying a convertible—something from 1993, wedge-shaped and bright.
i'd drive up the PCH with five bottles of blonde in the passenger seat—more than enough to spin all these waves into gold.
then, we'd meet up in malibu. we'd drop a tab, watch the sunset, get our feet wet
you'd eat my pussy while the dye takes hold in my hair