Listen, we ain’t gonna talking about country dating stories in Ithaca. To-do is overthrowing how many bars we‘ve been hopping in one night, if Frank Ocean gonna be the greatest R&B singer. Billie sang, “You want to guess the color of my underwear?” We might gamble the same. She always goes all in or fold, and I always win with long odds.
It’s about dating in a proper bar, more than decent looking woman, sipping a whiskey, swallowing lies, writing in your palm with her flashy fingertips. Itchy. You fed, felt New York City wasn’t far enough.
