She only listens to vintage radios, spinning her discs on an antique stereo. She only buys her clothes from a certified thrift store, she eats fake meat, what it’s made of? She’s not sure. She only says vague and wise things, like she’s walking around in a fog. She tells anyone one who’ll listen about her aesthetic ideas for her tumblr blog. She never wears shoes because it’s natural to bare your feet. She smells like hippy incense to everyone she meets. She doesn’t eat, but she drinks by the litre. Her legs are so long we measure them by the metre. She’s this she’s that she’s all I’ll ever need. At least I’ll never have to feel like I’m filled with greed. Because there’s one of her  everywhere, what once was OG now means NOTHING TO ME.