More confused than I’d like to be at this point. Sitting in front of illustrator, slightly drunk, resting my head on my knee. WTF? Can’t figure out the damn solution.
“This is an ode to summer nights
Me smoking a secret stoge
on my porch under moonlight
swatting gnats off my skin
My ear to the reciever listening, smiling
and pausing for an occassional sip if chamomile tea.”
