counterfeit love, or infatuation…you know, fun to play with but in the end it’s just plastic.”
stink of memory.
The early Forties building, along with a ridiculous amount of money, was left to me by my father, which is mildly interesting considering that as far as I know my father is still alive.
Interesting how the concept of “walking distance” changed when the alternative was sitting in a vehicle that, while it may get me where I needed to go, was more likely to reduce me to tears.