The Airportline: Observations

‘Spill your guts and throw it on the page of your pussy notepad that you are obsessively writing in. But really, all we ever wanted was to lie here and hear this music and watch the candle with an unknown scent of something chemical that is dressing up in a Swedish forest-like costume of Nordic berries.’

It was late as the Friday night came crashing down on us. But somehow it all made sense.

Also, I'm not gonna write about the tennis cause everything I promise in blogs never come true. I find no reason to diverge from that factual arrangement. Do you?