So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
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i can't get over that. ahaha
Nashe, it is lovely.
KL, a good question. He’s a baby is the best that I can come up with! :)
Barbara, it’s funny that too, as he was smiling all of yesterday (when he wasn’t screaming, that is)...
Neva, I’m happy that I’ve been able to just take thousands and thousands of photos. It wasn’t possible not that long ago... It also means that some of them are real rippers!
Saretta, and I’m lucky for it.
Miles, and free upsizes too!
Kitty, he’s a moody little beggar. Between you and me, I think he does it to pick up chicks...
Mary, I hope that you get it sorted!