Ninety-something degrees today, near a hundred tomorrow.
I hate hot weather.
I hate summer.
Summer of love? Fuck that. By July I’ll be cutting off my hair in despair, and by August, I’ll hate. . . everything.
That’s how it is.
Ninety-something degrees today, near a hundred tomorrow.
I hate hot weather.
I hate summer.
Summer of love? Fuck that. By July I’ll be cutting off my hair in despair, and by August, I’ll hate. . . everything.
That’s how it is.