Geese bring the Getting Killed tour to History tonight and I'm already elbow-deep in the dresser hunting for the right sweater. November shows demand layers — and I fully intend to shed every one of them by encore. Come dig through this drawer with me, dixie.
Castro's did what Tom Waits nights do — sent me home low-lit and starving, and the dress never made it past the doorway. Come finish the encore with me, pixie.
No show until Tom Waits night at Castro's, so my whole morning is coffee and staying exactly like this. A dive bar Monday deserves a lazy start. Pour yourself a cup and keep me company, dixie.
Boots half-laced and Sleeping With Sirens waiting for me at History tonight — these knots take longer than they should when I'm this distracted. Sunday shows are the only correct way to end a weekend. Tell me your favourite song of theirs while I finish up, dixie.
Halloween's candy is officially breakfast and Arch Enemy owns my night, so this flannel is the only thing I'm putting on until then — and barely that. The coffee's strong and I'm stronger. Tell me you'd handle the morning shift, dixie.
Pumpkin's half-gutted, my shirt lost the fight about ten minutes ago, and the party doesn't start for hours. Tell me what face I should carve into this thing, pixie.
Candles are lit and the robe was never part of the costume — Halloween eve doesn't need a mask when you already know what you want. Come find me in the dark, dixie.
Thursday night, this couch, this movie, and a tank top that gave up about ten minutes ago — I'm not fixing it. Pull up a cushion, pixie.
L7's Last Hurrah hits Danforth tonight and I'm spending the whole morning exactly how I want — no rules, no rush. Last chances are my favourite kind, dixie, and I don't share them with just anyone.
She Wants Revenge at the Opera House tonight and the choker went on before the dress did — I like knowing who's in charge before I even leave the apartment. Save me a spot in the dark, dixie?