An alcohol virgin. Got her vodka with an apple twist. On a day when her parents weren’t home.
Don’t hate me later for this. And take my example when you tell your kids about how blatantly irresponsible ‘friends’ can be. Please. Please please.
Now she can’t dilute it with grape juice also.
Vodka on the rocks. Burn your breath. Like the Night Fury.
But do YOU know how to train your dragon?
And what a sick combination. Fermenting potatoes and green apples. Eeeeeech!!!
Barrels and barrels of it in a cold underground cellar. With the spiders scuttling towards the darkest corners when the door creaks open and the heavy boots are semi visible in the triangle of orange light.
Gorbatschow.
From some place near Verkhoyansk perhaps??
Where the baker calls himself Yevgeny Pavlovitch.
The ground above is a cobbled street under a crunchy layer of snow and slippery ice. Bits of hay and streaks of mud left from the last carriage that passed.
Memories of impatient horses that have stomped their feet in the chill.
Yes. I obsess about them. (Though Kremlin did always seem a tad bit overdone)
There is this Korean guy who often comes to J.U. Ming. To convert us…!!
No energy left for the lol here.
He gave me fluorescent green mobile charm in the shape of a Roman cross.
It stares at me in the darkness from under my pillow. Makes me fidget. And I barely have it in me to strip my phone off it before I crash.
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