You wake up. It’s 7pm. You walk alongside the train line to 110 Chortle Crescent.
We’re not where we should be, that much is clear. Holding on to what we believe has never been more important, but K is wavering, pulled in other directions, and soon it will be too late.
<3 loving the motherland <3. Esther’s new Facebook profile picture looks like an advertisement for AsianDating.com.
A friend of mine has endometriosis, so severely that she often cannot work, sometimes cannot walk, cannot rely on having enough strength to do her laundry, cook her meals.
Dad bought my ticket and signed me up to housesit across America for three months. He said I’d been sad for too long. I needed to get out, to meet new people, to find someone new.
READ BY PROJECT
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I didn’t pick my moment well. We were standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle at Harris Farm, in front of an over-spilling tray of truss tomatoes, shortly after incurring the ire of a short and beefy man in a four-wheel drive whose parking spot I’d inadvertently taken.
Before our parents started pulling their hair out over the apocalyptic ‘hook-up culture’ endorsed by apps like Grindr, tinder and OKc. Baby Boomers were still stuck in that fear-mongering stage of ‘everyone you meet online is a serial killer’.
Orla had been doing well in the session up until the point where the young Thai masseuse who called herself Rabbit asked her to sit up and cross her legs.
Congratulations Marlee, so well deserved. https://t.co/7hGdl6VIc8