I sense movement and wake, opening my eyes and looking around. My heart stops for a moment before I remember where I am and what happened. What time is it? I look at my arm and find the paint completely dry. Sh*t...
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
"Same," I flash a smile, thinking of how to get it all off, "Maybe we should visit a car wash... without a car. That might get the paint off... maybe. It'd be fun either way."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it. — Roald Dahl