Backseat, windows up, this is the real way i prefer to.
When I kissed twelfth grade goodbye, I was thinking my times of automobile intercourse had been finally behind me. I decided to manage to bring an enthusiast 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. Read more