| |
|
I went out with a (very nice) girl for a couple of years a long time ago, for whom I'd've done almost anything. I gave up acid and speed, cut down on my drinking (for those couple of years, anyway)... but there was NO FUCKING WAY I was cutting off my dreads, no matter how much pressure was borught to bear. Until we split up, at which point someone suggested to me that cutting off all your hair was a good way of drawing a line between yourself and the past. Oh, the irony.
The sick part is, I still have them. In a bag. I fear them. In a Lovecraftian way. |
|
|
