acid_wash pony I thought about throwing them out - the jeans that I'd folded and left on the floor beneath my piano more than a month ago now - but the warm sun on the laundry lines told me it was probably time to scrub out the stains. The mud on the hems, the blood down the left leg, where it dripped from his nose as we sat in the snow and I pushed the damp hair from his face. I still don't know what his name was - and both know and prefer that I never will. There are so many beautiful boys in this world with their faces bashed in. 240227 what's it to you? who go blather from