I know this is lame but...I want to marry you!
We passed each other several times at the 4th street live outdoor concert last night. I had just been kicked out of the PBR VIP section and was taking out my aggression by pick pocketing anyone with a cowboy hat (Tight jeans make the wallets ride up and easy to pilfer, just sayin').
That's when I first saw you. You were carrying a beer cup with 7 empties below it. Clearly an announcement that you were either going to be A.) fucking someone shortly or B.) in need of a program of recovery.
Most likely C.) Both.
The Farm was still backflipping so, it was rather early.
I wasn't even upset when the old guys put their hands up your summer dress without much as a cough from you. I told myself that all mothers probably had that moment.
When Lynch said to holla' and swallow, you vomited. Now I'm a perfectionist when it comes to hitting the mark. Cameras are always rolling and stage presence is a constant concern.
But your recovery was epic. You pulled off your panties and wiped your mouth with them and then chucked your warm beer into the air.
Best post vomit scene, ever. Especially when the chic your beer landed on came looking for you.
I may have pointed you out to her. Nothing personal, I just like a good show and the main stage is wherever I am.
Like any cornered hot girl, you found some male proxies to fight your battles for you and you slipped away to find more medication.
The Bud girl told you to scram and since I pilfered your boyfriends wallet, he wasn't ponying up anymore.
You degraded fast without more alcohol to deaden the pain. Desperation. And for a moment I knew exactly how you felt.
Someone noticed my activities and my hasty exit prevented my getting your name...or purse.
Your cowboy and angel,
N.
We passed each other several times at the 4th street live outdoor concert last night. I had just been kicked out of the PBR VIP section and was taking out my aggression by pick pocketing anyone with a cowboy hat (Tight jeans make the wallets ride up and easy to pilfer, just sayin').
That's when I first saw you. You were carrying a beer cup with 7 empties below it. Clearly an announcement that you were either going to be A.) fucking someone shortly or B.) in need of a program of recovery.
Most likely C.) Both.
The Farm was still backflipping so, it was rather early.
I wasn't even upset when the old guys put their hands up your summer dress without much as a cough from you. I told myself that all mothers probably had that moment.
When Lynch said to holla' and swallow, you vomited. Now I'm a perfectionist when it comes to hitting the mark. Cameras are always rolling and stage presence is a constant concern.
But your recovery was epic. You pulled off your panties and wiped your mouth with them and then chucked your warm beer into the air.
Best post vomit scene, ever. Especially when the chic your beer landed on came looking for you.
I may have pointed you out to her. Nothing personal, I just like a good show and the main stage is wherever I am.
Like any cornered hot girl, you found some male proxies to fight your battles for you and you slipped away to find more medication.
The Bud girl told you to scram and since I pilfered your boyfriends wallet, he wasn't ponying up anymore.
You degraded fast without more alcohol to deaden the pain. Desperation. And for a moment I knew exactly how you felt.
Someone noticed my activities and my hasty exit prevented my getting your name...or purse.
Your cowboy and angel,
N.
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