i spend the likes of today listening to the few men of my life,
and the lone, very-female Ani DiFranco
Funny that this works for me, only requiring the commitment of sounding records from my disc-drive, with the pull of colourful bills from my pocket and their unjealous nature of sharing the same slot in my machine.
I am tired of wanting things i cannot have, but yet the thought still entertains me at certain unnerving points of time.
What did i expect, you must say.
Only just another sick cycle carousel.