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you, reaping: "Why do advertisers think I don't fuck?"
you, reaping: "Why do advertisers think I don't fuck?"
Within a week its halo has been yanked down past its ears and sits limply around its neck, a leash clipped on, divine glow long since bled out onto the bedsheets where it lies, begging to fall further still.
Within a week its halo has been yanked down past its ears and sits limply around its neck, a leash clipped on, divine glow long since bled out onto the bedsheets where it lies, begging to fall further still.