May 2010
26 posts
It’s around midday on a Sunday, I look at Blake. He looks drawn and pale, his face looks like someone has stuck a syringe into his cheek and sucked out the puppy fat that usually makes him look jovial and approachable and left him with the “it’s October yay no more sleeps until Christmas” look, the coffee pumping through his veins must be at a similar ratio to the blood and...
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