Monday, February 28, 2011

Ah...a Birthday Weekend

Another year, another day, another hour, another minute...
birthdays aren't really THAT fabulous ALL the time...

...maybe when you're little and you think the height of experience is listing material goods out on lined paper, in an order of priority, as if acquisition were happiness. But Farrah could have it all if she wanted it - trust, her mother is a prize-winning gold-digger, so no one is strapped for cash. But what's a new sweater or a new TV when you can't find one single person on this godforsaken earth who understands you? What's icing, if you don't have cake?

NOTHING. That's what.

So she writes, and she writes and she writes. And Jackson Miles responds in his depraved way. And together to two whip up a tarnished recipe of psychopathic proportions. Oh, how sweet it is...

It's Day 45, Day 46, Day 47, Day 48. She'll be coming home soon, and it will be an epic feast.

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