"brewery" poems
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
The first time I fell in love was on a basketball court
Adrenalin was pumping
The sound of sneakers squeaking across the floor echoed in our ears
I rebounded the ball and passed to the point guard
We quickly adjusted our offense
I was in the pocket
Bounce pass to me
Quick lay-up
It’s in
But it wasn’t long before I fell in love again
The second time I fell in love was with painting
I painted anything and everything
My room, bathroom, lamps, clothing
And sometimes even canvas
The satisfaction of prying open a new can of paint
Watching the wet paint gather then drip off the lid and slide into the can
Or looking at your dried palette after completing a painting
The feeling is indescribably in words
But I still played basketball
The third time I fell in love, I neglected my old hobbies
This time it was with a boy
Pale face, auburn hair and green eyes
He had a kind smile and assured me the world could be ours
And it was
For two years
And even though the last time I played ball was
A drunken night outside a brewery in Tel Aviv
And even though the last time I painted I used
A sponge and toothbrush
And even though the last time I saw that smile
It was no longer mine to behold
I still love all these things
But now, I see them in a different way
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
Bought a painting of Jaden Smith,
now wait before you diss,
give me a second to explain,
there’s a story that goes along with it,
see he had a show in LA,
and of course it was on the 7th,
3rd show of the tour,
and the tour was called Vision,
I hadn’t planned to go,
didn’t even know about the show,
until my brother Alpha told me about it,
and the cards aligned in a row,
see a few days before,
I’d backed my car into a wall,
and I had to take it to East LA,
to get it fixed in other words resolved,
now it just so happened,
that the day I took it to get fixed,
was the same day as Jaden’s show,
now that’s some Cosmicness,
see the show was downtown,
and I usually don’t go east of the 405,
but this time I did to get my car fixed,
and I asked a friend to pick me up because I couldn’t drive,
so she picked me up,
and then my other friend told me of an art show,
at a place called The Brewery,
and man how I love art shows,
so after dropping off the car,
and went to The Brewery,
where I bought some art,
because I like to collect future history,
now the girl that had picked me up,
was having a rough day,
because her brother had died 6 months earlier,
and today was his birthday,
so she had to leave,
and go to the beach,
and I stayed behind,
to let her have some peace,
and as it so happened,
there was another anniversary at a gallery called The Hive,
I told you the cards were in a row,
and of course the stars were aligned,
so I went to the next art gallery,
got a ride there from a beautiful Polish chic,
bought some more art at there as well,
I guess I am what a Collector is,
then it just so happened,
that I was walking distance from Jaden’s show,
so I walked through downtown,
until I arrived at The Novo,
now I didn’t have a ticket,
and the show as sold out,
but I found a side door,
and it opened right up,
I went inside,
and got with the vibes,
man that kid Jaden,
knows how to get the crowd hyped,
during the show,
I kept seeing someone in the front row,
try to hand Jaden a painting,
a painting of himself,
after the show,
I was thrown Jaden’s yellow bandana,
then I exited outside,
and away from the arena,
when I got to the exit,
I saw the kid with the painting,
it had Jaden and Willow’s signature,
and as I said before I collect paintings,
so I bought it right then and there,
blame synchronicities,
so it’s not so much I seek out art,
as art comes to me,
all part of the vision,
of starting the Art Center in New Zealand,
where we can feel safe and socialize,
and remember what it was like when we still had feelings,
and all that I see now,
in this painting I have,
of Jaden Smith,
dressed as Batman,
bought a painting of Jaden Smith,
now wait before you diss,
give me a second to explain,
there’s a story that goes along with it…
∆ LaLux ∆
The new book is 100% FREE here: www.scribd.com/document/388173677
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
I know the contours of your face
just like the streets of my hometown
you'd squint your eyes
when laughing
at the corner of Main and Dow.
Blacktooth Brewery
on frigid Friday nights
frosted glasses, fogging breaths
and laughs caught up
in tightening chests.
Kendrick Park can keep its towering trees
and midnight charms
if I can keep your laughter with me
when I sail for newer shores
Something in familiar signs,
buzzing blackened Bighorn skies,
keeps us just above the water line--
afloat for one more night.
Sheridan Iron Works
Red, rigid lettering a raised, distant hand
Watch it wave from on the hill
above the Kendrick boardwalk,
soak December in our smiles
choking back our April cries.
Snake's head yawning
from the I-90 exit
slithers down Coffeen and tails
our icy footsteps
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
Shake this town to its bones
with our Thurmond Street jokes
and our glowing Gould Street hearts.
I hope
this is enough
to buoy our ***** up
against the weighty ballast
of this tiny, yawning town.
Settlers of Catan
played on a windy Wednesday night
over another drowning round
of clinking Wagon Box pints.
The contours of your face,
icy streets of our hometown,
our squinting, gasping laughter
on the corner of Main and Dow.
Blacktooth Brewery.
Frigid Friday nights.
Fogged up glasses. Frosting breaths
and laughing, clutching tightening chests.
This freezing town
will test your mettle.
Settle up and bring your friends.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
If the sun lighten meadow,
were to fall to a land forsaken burrow
A shelter it once was, full of decadent greenery,
But, never it may be again the land of lavishing brewery
If the sun lighten stream,
would fade out into dim
Becomes a melancholic and forgotten drought,
An eye-sparkling land it was where all life would spread and sprout
The embellishing jade and lapis,
Deeply tainted to the faintest
By work of all demons alike,
The bright ruby can never be in our sight
Our treasures soon gone into abyss
Our jewels alive but shows no zest
Our land fainted and made
If only we kept out of the shade
-Sometimes sitting there in the shade will only diminish what you call light-
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
The million dollar war, and a penniless soul
Become entrapped in an ephemeral state.
Reality is not his father’s cold brewery,
Reality is the burning, fermented sweat
Which singes his eyes. “Salute” rang
The officer, as the crowd looked on.
Georg fell in line to salute his soul away
To a reality of misconstrued differences.
A moment of bombastic glory rang out in his ears,
As he began to carry what his father had bestowed on him.
He didn’t realize, or did not conceive,
The sound of the months following.
The bombs of the months following did not ring.
The bombs were quiet—
A silent brigade of destruction.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
The hardest part of all of this is that you were not just the first person I was in love with, but the first thing I've ever loved at all. I think everyone needs to love something to be happy in life, and some people love their jobs, or school, or their home, or even themselves, but for me it was only you, and I don't know what to do now. I keep having dreams of people asking for my commitment and in those dreams the first thing I think about is when and how I will leave them. I keep having flashbacks to that evening we had dinner at the European brewery. You were joking about how if we ever broke up I would spend the rest of my life trying to replace you but I would never succeed. What if you were right? What if you were it? What if I am never able to love anyone else again?
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
Jay-Z (Feelin' It (That's Life) Instrumental)
Check it
This for all of the spiritual tears
that fell down
Through out the weapin' years
No respect to our
peers pressures heard in the
ears
Of the youth I spit the realist in
The booth
So what I gotta chipped tooth only
Speak truth
It's the language I only
understand give the fans
Something they need to hear so forget yall demands
Watch my enemies hands
crossing swords
Clashing iron I ain't lying trying to
Tie in
My self back into the community embraced the unity
Cuz it's so many
of us abused used and
unvalued
**** the news crews they bruised our neighborhood avenues Misled
Golden values
And money comes in revenues so
How you
Gone hate on my hustle when I'm just tryna make a muscle
Without flexing no plexing everybody hands
Stretching
Once they see the blessing
goes up I Bump
Out the corrupt my minds finna
Erupt
Frown upon the madness no
gladness
As the game crashes head on they say I'm dead wrong
The weak or the strong man who got it going
on?
Sip German brewery with a chase of
greenery
Keep a packed sub-machinery cuz
Jealousy
Keep me strapped **** shame
How I gotta watch my
back
In my own hood it's hell destiny is set to
fail
No bail only if I see my own casket
Sail
Out the churches driveway unto the
highway
It's a brighter day as I reach for the
cemetery
My flesh destroyed but I live on
Spiritually
My heart will always be with thee
trust me
To infinity and beyond I got wisdom by the
ton
They donned and stunned on me
Since day one
My only one son Solomon I'll always love
ya
No matter the sh*tthat comes my
way
You'll always have my love
The closest
Even when I'm far away
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
The Brewery
Located superolateral to 'The Abdomen'
Runs under the control of the four beertaps
Releasing the poisonous drops of frustration
Filling up the body of desolation
Drunk on liquor
Cells getting thicker
Squeezing out the blood, the pain,
the anger, the rage
Caged, in for so long
Growing more strong
Out of control and beyond
Anger so hot, so volatile
So stubborn, so in denial
Intoxicates itself within the factory of whiskey
Sipping in Jack Daniels to satisfactory
Feeling burned, its vessels burst out with migraines
A red face, blood shot eye strain
Bouts of anger frustrate the powerhouse
This house of pain
A house on fire
No ounce of rain
A house on fire
Caged, Tamed, Chained
Retired..
Drained.
This house of pain
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
When I'd sail upon the moon boat,
I would think of all I have got,
An old dime in my left pocket,
In the right, one gifted locket,
umpteen shades of memory,
from my mind's secret brewery,
my palm drawn upside in space,
upon which once your hand you placed,
twinkling under fair, raining light,
all I have would come to sight,
another pocket, another thing,
a time-old letter that gave me wings,
what else do I do have,
nothing much I could save,
but yes, there's too, this crimson glow
which my heart refuses to show,
it used to unlock in someone's arms,
and I've lost those keys long ago.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Holy water into wine. Beer from barley.
Walking on the roof of a brewery,
Contemplating how Jimmy Fallon's
Finger never really seems to heal.
Combine harvester headlights dance
On the living room walls
As I lean back on my white IKEA
Sofa, tracing long hairs and
Fingerprints of lovers gone,
Wondering why I chose such a
Revealing colour.
Suppose the transparency matches
That of my soul's lining.
Holy water into wine.
Fields of gold now liquid painkillers
Slurring the voices in my head that
Pick fights with my heart over
Insignificant issues.
I lip synch to the music of my
Neglected talents and the memories
Of inspiration attached.
Bullets like knuckles rapping, rapping
At my empty chamber
Door.
Every finger I ever broke
Was from typing or
Punching
Walls.
Sometimes I put on the mask of
Poet, and pretend to be writing
For as long as it takes to fool
The empty pages.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
Cottonmouth kingdom.
Bloodshot million-gallon-gaze.
Brewery breath.
Battlescars.
Headache like horses over the hills.
Bukowski without the
Brilliance.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
*the temperatures are devilish tonight
made in hell's antithetical brewery
from whence uncharacteristic blasts of cold air
fly at those who are poorly-clad
so make this ghoulish frost in my heart go away
hold me against your body and pat my back tenderly
tell me it's all right to suffer the sting of the elements
on a night like this when my imagination runs riot
and i see apparitions leering at me from worlds unknown
so dear favoured one,do make the cold go away this night
and rescue my being from the doldrums of apocalyptic nightmares*
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
What it'd be
to be the same cup of tea
and poured so thoroughly
for all the world to see
What it'd be
to be sought and enjoyed
rather than looked
through tainted and destroyed
colored glasses,
decidedly annoyed
people fix me irritated glances
I'm not a crowd pleaser
and alone viewed as bitter
I'm sorry I'm not your cup of tea
if you see a quiter
then a bitter quiter has to be me
What it'd be
to not even be me
maybe instead
from a mint brewery
then my demeanor
would appear brighter,
cleaner
but not to you
achu achu
appearances never
faze to blue
until that brew adieus
What it'd be
for my recipe
to have been escriben
so graciously
near my name
Instead drank ostensibly
spit contemptuously
and given tired out pleasantries
failed to taste great piquancy
no red, yellow, or blue cup's
compatible dripping amenity
And oh what it'd be
for you to see
that with the alliance with a honey bee
everyone's cup of tea
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
the sky a faint grey
suddenly turned black as night
wind roars, thunder cracks
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
He lived in a fine old country house
Befitting a man of means,
With everything a Victorian Squire
Could aspire to, in his dreams.
He owned four-fifths of a colliery
In the days when coal was gold,
And topped that up with a Brewery,
But the mean old man was cold.
For Benjamin John Fortescue ruled
His house like a would-be Earl,
His son had never felt welcome there
Since he’d married a country girl,
The mother had gone some years before
Who protected, in his youth,
But now, the **** of his father’s whims
The lad found out the truth.
He treated them like the servant class
Expected to fetch and bring,
But paid a pittance to keep them there,
His purse on a miser’s string,
‘I keep a fine roof over your heads
And you eat each day for free,’
He’d say, whenever they asked for gilt,
‘What more do you want from me?’
Their toddler Tim wore cast-off clothes
And was made to play outside,
‘I don’t want a ragamuffin’s mess,’
He’d say, till the mother cried.
‘You don’t seem to love your grandson,’ said
His son, his head in a whirl,
‘I would if he had some parentage,
But not from some country girl.’
As time went on there was something wrong
For the father suffered fits,
At first it would start with a seizure,
He would seem to lose his wits.
He’d lie for days in a sort of haze
And would scarcely draw a breath,
And Caroline would look hard it him,
‘It’s as if he’s caught in death!’
It happened enough to make him plan
Should the doctor be deceived,
‘I don’t want the fools to bury me
Alive, so I’m not retrieved.’
He bought a coffin with space inside
And a tube, out to the air,
With a little bell he could ring as well
If he found himself in there.
‘Be sure to follow instructions if
You think that I am dead,
Affix the bell to the tube as well
With a cord down to my head,
Then check the grave for a week or more
To see if the bell should ring,
Then hurry to dig me up, and I
Will give you anything.’
The day came that on the seventh fit
They could swear that he was dead,
‘There isn’t even a breath of air
And his eyes are up in his head.’
Three doctors came, and they all concurred
That his life was now extinct,
‘It had to happen,’ the couple heard,
‘He’s been living on the brink.’
They laid him out in his coffin, and
They fitted the tube to breathe,
Attached the bell, and the cord as well
Before they rose to leave,
But Timothy stayed to play that day
As he did, down in the Dell,
And a week went by till his mother cried:
‘Where did he get that bell?’
David Lewis Paget
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
A fabulous day
to be had was in store
At Mash Brewery I casualy
strolled through the door
Our tables real long
30 + ladies are here
Eating lunch and chatting
with a wine,cider or beer
Then I spy the birthday girl
a friend I hold dear
Like all the other ladies
I bring birthday cheer
Then a call "all aboard"
gotta skull down my drink
To much of this
I'll end up feeling real stink
So out of the brewery
single file we go
To our white disco bus
with our Kiwi driver Joe
With a smile to our driver
I say "Kiora Bro"
Then we're off on our journey
to different Swan Valley locations
There's laughter even a waterslide to release some of life's frustrations
Then all to soon my journey
must end
Then I hear a voice say
"Come to Guildford my friend"
More then happy to ablige
It's back to my seat
with a skip in my stride
At the Guildford Tavern I decide l'd love to go the whole way
And on my girlfriends couch
tonight is where I shall stay
Today I'm having respite
so my sister I call to see
if in the morning
she's able to come and get me
She's more than happy
Glad I'm having fun
I love my sister
she's my number one
So off on our bus down
the Highway we roar
Singing
"Girls just wanna have fun "
we let our voices soar
With our trusty driver Joe
in our white bus
with the disco light
We laugh, sing and dance
our voices carrying into the night.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
i never second guess its omnipresence
but i do underestimate its lack of reverence
rendered second fiddle to my own body
my own mind, bubbling up inside
i should never second guess its power
thought i was built strong, that i would tower
until it broke me down like salt in water
like a fish out of water
gasping for my life, except theres no threat to see
silence is deafening, voices whispering
ribbons undoing, time i keep losing
i should never second guess its control
simply riding the monstrous waves as they come
i finally learned to swim, the first couple years nearly did me in
hide in shadows and caves, played the mind games
and i lost
tried to scale the waves
and i lost
i keep losing
anxiety keeps brewing
a fresh *** daily like your favourite brewery
pretty till broken like jewelry
imprison by my own cells
lacking in unity
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 9:15 PM UTC
Imperial ales coerced our high gravity choices one day.
Bleeding, drenched and on full alert,
I limped from the Tuck's bank to the brewery.
With one pole wet, my whistle was next;
I needed hoppy nourishment, salty pretzels and a stool.
Lacking fish or gear, I imagined it would be difficult
to explain my appearance, but I didn't give a **** I come as is.
To my 3 o'clock a smoke ring silhouette vacuumed my
exhale like spooling cotton candy from 3 feet away;
I took a breath and inhaled her dandelion seeds.
A tattoo of a paper airplane on her wrist was faded from afar,
yet as she flew closer the ink appeared fresh, 2-3 weeks old.
Her hair smelled of patchouli, parsnips, an Asheville scent.
Closer now, I recognized a look of love or disgust in her eyes.
Can't tell em' apart anymore, as the prior wears a disguise,
eventually becoming the latter.
She asks my name and I ask the barkeep for two double IPA's.
We don't need a racetrack to run in circles anymore.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
Three hours I’ve got
Till I need to place three more quarters in the slot,
Preventing a ticket from making a print on my windshield.
Walk fast, speedy gal.
The rain is making a damp home of your hair.
Pit pat pit pat pit pit patter.
The flats that hug my feet make tiny foot prints of sound on the city side walk.
The invisible prints, with the splash and swoosh of water waves from passing cars
Makes all other sound miniscule to my ears.
I push the swinging door open
And step from chill winter air into warm chit chat filled space.
The smell of damp clothes and freshly ground espresso fills my nostrils.
My eyes welcome the sight of relaxed people and the rustic interior of the bakery, brewery, and restaurant.
Time to get cozy on my favorite bench, with a cappuccino in my hands, a book in front of me on the table, and my bubble of comfort around me.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
BLOOD,SWEAT & BEERS
New dawn new day cup of joe to begin the day,starting in line helping to create more urban decay
Waiting out winters feeding the flock, spring warmth brings bringing ceaseless hours for that new crop
Daily mail brings new news while men in a truck pick up the muck,while another prepares to make repairs while caught up in the drudgery
Clerks & cashiers line up with peers at home behind desks or registers ,more & more simply wanting to beat that clock
Many in uniform protecting the rest from the next storm ,defending all of us & themselves stubbornly
Famous factories forged many generations in fire ,painting a lifestyle for many to admire,building a nations foundation in solid rock
Times change ,full circle to a broad range ,equal rights brings new light ,hoping to help move many upwardly
Wheels of rubber or of steel always moving ready to help seal a deal ,someone at the helm across the nation or around the block
Many more labor with lumber like ants on erector sets,from floors to steeple ,finalizing with grass & shrubbery
Miles of coastline mean fisherman don't flounder,line or net they get what they get anything to feed the ever growing flock
Others eager to learn for new knowledge they do yearn ,teachers take on the task to guide the classrooms fortunately
So paid in sweat equity or in blood for the brood, many gather at the end of the day
but never forget to tip the barmaid or tender at your local brewery. R.C.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
--------
Obsessive compulsive disorder/
Reconstructed self-immolation ash/
Just add wattage/
Neuromance of old flame/
Crackling synapses going haywire/
Desire staging a hostile takeover/
Daywalker with the darkest impulses/
Do think twice/
Turn a pair of minds into a facemelter/
Mentalfund electrical fire/
Ballpoint pen to the socket/
Eyes sore from all this ugly fake light/
Life as migraine/
Iceman boiling chest heartburn/
If you don’t laugh, you cry ****** ******
Gimme ******** mania, & alienation/
Space invaders get shot down/
Everyone’s a narcissist/
Still got the white tongue/
Feverish nervous-energy teeth/
Zombie conscience/
Sick ******* thought brewery, everyday/
Distressed by the weight of the dunyaa/
Endurance test/
Holding on by a thread, in a needle/
In my head, that’s unravelling fast/
Flammable wickerman, having a blast.../
Allspark./
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 6:14 AM UTC
Let me inject you with a metaphor
An euphemism of my life
The reality of the real world
I spew profanity
I smoke
I drink
I ****
I am such a bad person that people think I'm joking, because no one can be so cruel right? And that's the only reason I have friends
I think about heaven every now and then
But hell is like a brewery in my stomach
I ***** negativity
And allow my demon to control my thoughts
She is my only stability, my only sanity
My walk is the footsteps you hear in a horror movie
My legs are pin needles stuck out to pierce the side of everyone who gets close to me
My arms give guidance to the slaying of wrists and popping of pills
My heartbeat is the crack of a woman's rib in a broken home
My chest is the homepage of insecurity and doubt
My lips are the poison kiss of loneliness
My tongue tastes darkness covered in sparkling lies
My eyes are the pathway to her
I am her slave and I will do anything she asks of me
So please don't look into me Because she is constantly waiting for her next victim
Don't try to save me
You have no idea as to who I am
Hi
I'm Basbee
I have trapped a demon inside of me
She is cold and lonely
She's mean, rude and quite frankly a *****
Basically she's like me
Except she torments me from the inside
She has officially burnt a hole in my heart And all that's left is barely pumping blood
I am deoxygenated Because she keeps stealing every breath of fresh air I inhale
She has me mentally and emotionally ****** up So the only good part I had left was my physicality And she had to **** that up too
I have these scars More like tattoos, to remind me that I am mortal and one day I will leave this body and She will be free
I bet you're asking by now "Why don't you let her go?"
I can't
She is a part of me
And without her I would fall apart Because right now She's the reason I'm trying to paint a picture of myself To remember who I was when I was young
Because right now She's the reason that I believe in a God
I am a dark twisted fairytale
And I know how my story ends
She will eventually break out of the haunted prison she lives in And leave me warden to my own shadow
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
forgot how to love
she said 'spank me, man'
i spanked her too hard
I tried to kiss her kneck like James Dean
she didn't feel it.
i made her bed while she was showering,
i made her coffee while she dressed,
i held her hand at the bustop and then walked home.
i found a note in my pocket
a drawing of a flower,
a drawing of lips kissing,
her handwriting
again I'm in high school learning how to love
this time my lover already knows
and so it is easy to remember.
her makeup stained my favorite shirt,
the one my dad bought at a brewery in Berkeley but to be fair, the blue one that says 'Truckee' was my favorite until this morning
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:07 PM UTC