as_usual x the wind starts to pick up. my hair is blown over my face, wafting the saccharine and alcoholic smells of hair products into my nose. i know that by this time my makeup must be smudged so as to give me black eyes and the cold must have made my face even paler. whoosh... then slow, then stop. the doors a smidge to the right of their marks as usual. 030902 what's it to you? who go blather from