There’s a certain sense of guilt associated with dragging children into a strange house to look through the belongings of people who are most likely dead, infirmed, or in some state of personal or financial distress.
The bartenders were the oldest people in the place. It was a wood themed bar. Maybe all of them are when we are passed out or not paying attention.
Listen to this on the way to a trashy party in Allston. Ride the T to the Harvard Avenue stop with a bottle of gin in your purse, but still stop at Blanchard’s before you head over. Pass a group of rowdy girls headed to Model Cafe. Pass a bunch of bros bummed The Kells closed. Pass someone puking.
His page is flooded with inspirational quotes, uploaded in .jpeg format. I don’t feel inspired.
The Kinsey Institute wants to hear your weird, effed up, tragic or out-there sex stories.