Backseat, windows up, this is the real way i want to.

Once I kissed twelfth grade goodbye, we thought my times of automobile intercourse had been finally behind me personally. I decided to manage to bring a fan back once again to my “cool” university dorm space, plagued by dreamcatchers and unframed posters of Bob Marley. I figured I’d have a sick studio in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and it would surely suffice after I graduated.