It's all a big bedroom; none of these messes are dangerous, they just need to be cleaned up and sorted through.
But this time I feel butterflies dancing, in my chest and stomach
painfully amazing.
I love you Monrovia
your young mountains jutting like green walls
friends with fiery hair and sexy ambitions
old women. bakeries. a Library
Ruined.
In the meantime there's plays and shows and money to be made.
Hurray for good young art!
Migs
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