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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


07.31.06, monday night

Wedding fetes at their best are sloppy, tongue-tied, forgetful of sorrows, and of course drowning in champagne, strawberries a-bobbing. Let's not have a show full of strangers at a hundred bucks spent her head. Let's dance with the slinkiest lady in black satin to the spine-tingling twangs of the local Cajun band while Johnny the foxy Scotsman croons of coal mine disasters and darling Clementine. Yes, celebrate today, who knows how long it'll last?





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