Five sweaters and a hat find me in the kitchen. Predictably, mother left cigarettes and no note, so I have one over orange juice.
And I make myself concerned suddenly with just where those same mothers have gone absent to, with the indoor weather something now intolerable.
Sometimes hypocrisy just shrugs.
Sometimes hypocrisy gets elected.
Sometimes hypocrisy buys the platform.
Sometimes hypocrisy becomes a fucking lifestyle brand.