Moods and Other Shit No One Cares About

WANT: to be holed up in a New York City apartment, overlooking ANYTHING, smoking joint after pre-rolled, happy joint, writing to my heart’s content and my soul’s joy, all while listening to The Pharcyde. Lots of room needed for activities, such as, dancing, hooping, rollerblading, contemplating conspiracy theories,


composing lyrics to semi-folky songs never to be sung, and crying uncontrollably. Oh, and must love dogs and dog companions, in the form of a cat named Lyric. Thanks, byeeee!


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