I smell of whiskey, patruly, and roses.

 

(Don't worry about finding out who made any of these items. Too poor for new clothes, too bad ass to care.)

 

Identity: My name is Meg, 22 (soon to be 23). This is yet another attempt into making it in the world of frequencies and cyborgs. Unfortunately, I don't have a working camera... yet. A past friend crashed onto my what would be camera in a night of heart break and slurred words.  Come to realize, I don't even have a working computer. The one I am using was given to me by a boyfriend I had for two days. Yes two days... and here I am trying to hold the screen in weird ways so it doesn't freeze and turn white... while trying to spell check the whole time. That actually sums up a regular night we had in the short time period of knowing each other. He gave me that shirt too, I cut the sleeves off. You could say, "I'm that wild one." Not hippy, gypsy, or punk rock.