I wish he was my boyfriend
Y’all, we’re gonna get to ninety five. Nine. Ty. Five. I can’t find shorts. My shoulder looks like a round steak but the bike is fine. God, Tuesday, you exhaust me when I open my eyes.
(Source: nina-jay)
About
Big boots. Word nerd. Not so recent undergraduate, Chicago post-Bay Area parting. Bourbon charmer, beer baroness. Unapologetic vice-ridden slow-geek. Two-timing extensive public transit with back to the land small agriculture. Library vigilante, gender derelict, closet formalist. Ambition without self-importance. Books, beats, baking, a set of brakes. Wrestling with growing up angels and emerging from bike accidents.
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