The sun danced around her, giving every degenerate hustler, trucker and lonely fugitive in the joint a glimpse of her perfectly chiseled thighs through the red skirt she wore. Spicy cinnamon and warm cloves sweetened with vanilla bean trailed behind her as she walked through the door of the tiny roadside booze shack. It was 1965, the dog days of summer where the thick Tijuana heat was king.
Like nothing youve ever seen, smelt, head of before. Check it out
carnivalwax
No comments:
Post a Comment