Bring on the next apocalype.
Move on, the poncey little Watcher said. Not neccesarily a bad idea, that. And this is the first step; my new journal.
So, this is me, movin' on.
And I don't want to hear any crap about the song, either. Heard it on the radio, and... yeah.
Eh, sod it all. I'm going outside, have a cig. Bloody California.
Er, maybe not. Sunlight and all. W&H spoiled me a bit. Peaches'll have to live with it, and the state gov be damned