dreams.

I dreamt about you
I dreamt about you and you looked like Kal Penn
I dreamt about you and you looked like Kal Penn and you were raging mad
mad as a charging bull.
And you screamed at me. Told me to gettout to getlost.
It broke something in me.
When I woke up, there was


a dull ache
in my chest.

Frustration bubbles up inside you like hot lava. Nothing goes right. You curse yourself, curse yourself endlessly, you curse yourself and wish to die.

Patterns in the sky.

Twirl your fingers, twist the clouds around to your liking.
A duck. A prince kissing his princess. A mermaid fleeing. A jukebox. A choo-choo train heading nowhere. Dreams shattering, hearts breaking into a million tiny little pieces.



You danced, I danced, we danced. 
Together.

hosts

no no she said

thank you very much

and her lovesick lover stared and stared and stared into her eyes.

things to do

lie like a corpse
wait to die

idrewedtoday.

ah, crappy phonekacamera, it seems as if I am stuck  with thee.

and thou art stuck with me.

shindig.

I want to make sculptures.

I want to plunge my arms elbow-deep into vats full of mushy warm paper, I want to shape wire into monsters with names. I want to chop up wood and play with string and bits of glass and crushed tincans.

I want to create, I want to give birth to monstrous creations that no one else will understand. I want to stand there in their shadows and

finally

be at peace

I am trying to download a whole 65daysofstatic album. This will probably lead to the download limit  being exceeded and me being left internetless for the next four days, but ah well. It'll be worth it.


The little paper flag thingy that sticks out the top of a Hershey's kiss is called a Nigglywiggly.


my brains
are upside down
wish I had a unicorn

fire

my palms are on fire. my palms, the soles of my feet. everything I touch becomes red hot, becomes red hot and starts raining embers.

Fire in her gaze. The fiercest and most dangerous of all the raging mad fires that ever burned in the history of this fuckin' world.

And when she dances, she stirs up storms. Sirens start singing and the sky tears up and sends down bolt after bolt of lightning, red hot and ready to sizzle.

burka woman with your sexy feet

zhis.incaseyourewondering.

So I discovered this buried in my USB today. It's apparent;y vairy old. 

I have no idea what this means. 

I also have no idea about the mental state I was in when I wrote this.

It might have something to do with the fact that I used to be scared of women in burkas when I was little.

-__-

HIYAAAAAAAA the woman in the black burqa said. Hiyaaaa she said and I saw her flying towards me footfirst. I screamed IT’S A FLYING KICK and I jumped out of the way. She hit the ground rolled over and immediately got back up. I looked at her over my shoulder my eyes all wide and breathing like a fishy and she’s coming towards me and I run and I look back over my shoulder and I run and then she’s closer and I run faster and noo she’s gaining on me no

You want to know the ending don’t you.

You know you do.

fsc ki kitabein ukp hain.

I'm supposed to be studying these Godforsaken FSc books these days. The entire syllabus actually. For the UHS test. Which is like three days away. And I don't know shit. It's the centralised medical test for the wholeee of Punjab.

'kyunke mai barray ho ke daacter banna chahta hoon'

Anyhow.


The thing is, trying to memorize classification is made even worse when you have to deal with this:

Exercise is essential for the body. It makes us feel good all through the day.

Clip your nails on time so that dust does not get stuck in them. Also, wash your hands and feet regularly.

OMFG. WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK.

Are these guys for real. 

SERIOUSLY? BLOND CHILDREN? WASHING THEIR FEET? FROLICKING ABOUT IN FIELDS OF HAPPINESS?

And these are adults you're dealing with! Seventeen to nineteen year olds! 

I want to die.

No, I want to hunt down the person who put these in the damn book and torture them into insanity by making them listen to Chammak Challo on repeat and then suffocate them using a pile of their own dirty underwear and then die.

daal aur faisloo.

I hate maash ki daal. Ammi made me eat it today T__T


Oh and I went to Faisloo for Eid.

Heyman's Pizza: Chanies food at yer doorstep.

Hell to the yes.

Ah Faisloo.

Bullshit and preferences.

She lies on her bed, faceup, for hours. And hours. Listens to Portishead. Stares at the fan.

She wonders what dying would feel like. She wonders if she would ever have the courage to end a human life. Someone else’s. Her own.

She’s in her fifth hour. She stares at a spider on the ceiling, watches as it patiently spins itself a home. Tomorrow morning the cleaning woman will come and sweep it away. She wonders if it knows. Surely the same has happened to its mother, and its father, and its various other relatives?

Spiders never learn.

She thinks of rocket bombs suddenly crashing through the ceiling, debris and pieces of cement and brick on top of her, crushing her, weighing her down.

She imagines being trapped under a large piece of plaster, she imagines her ribcage crushed, she images coughing because of dust-and-rubble clouds in the air, imagines not being able to call out for help, imagines dying.

They’ll find her there later. They’ll come running when they hear the crash. But by the time they arrive, it’ll be too late.

Death by asphyxiation.

silence.

It can be so oppressive sometimes, the Silence. Pressing in on your ears with all the force it can muster, bearing down on you until you can take it no longer, until you begin to feel that you shall go crazy just because of the sound it makes. You crave, you yearn for a break, so you can hear it shattering into a million little pieces, so you can once more hear yourself think without that deafening quietness in your ears.

Anything, anything at all.

The barking of the lonely dog down the road, it's mournful howls.
The sound the Wind makes when it crackles through the drying leaves, rustling them this way and that.
A sudden snore from someone sleeping. The sound of their breath as it gushes through their airways.
The constant, rhythmic clicking of the clock.

The soothing sound Time makes as it goes flying by.

Anything, anything at all.

desparationdiaries.

Day 1:

Stupid internet, why won’t you work?

I spend a good fifteen minutes messing around with the router and starting and restarting my laptop, and then hunting down and opening up a different browser.

OMG YES ITS WORKING

*gasp*

And shudder.

Yeah that about sums up my expression.

It’s not.

A huge pink and white message saying that we have consumed our credit limit for the month is being displayed on the screen. I stare at it, willing it to somehow change.

It doesn’t.

Ah well. What can I do now. This is a sign, you see, a sign from all the gods of academicity to me to start studying for this huge test that I have in September.

Deep breath. This is not the end.

This is not the end.

Day 2:

I spend the whole day sleeping. I wake up an hour before iftari, only to discover that I have wasted yet another day, a day that could’ve been spent studying.

After I’ve eaten I feel so full that I cannot move. I realize suddenly with a sinking sense of despair that I still have no internet.

All hope seems lost as I finally open up a ratty old FSc biology book and start studying about pons. Seriously, people-who-name-stuff-in-the-body, PONS? WTF, okay.

Day 3:

My brother and I are getting desperate.

He spends his time looking for books that he hasn’t already read in every corner and crevice of the house. I suggest that he read The Time Traveler’s Wife (which a friend lent to me, okay.) and he is on the verge of opening it up out of sheer desperation, but in the end his inflated ego prevents him from doing so. After a while I catch him reading Madame Bovary with a tortured expression on his face.

I spend my time staring at the FSc book. Its previous owner has underlined and highlighted practically the whole damn thing and has written her own annoying little footnotes everywhere. The fact that the said previous owner is now in her fourth year of med school at King Edward is not helping me.

Day 4:

I suddenly remember that my phone has GPRS. Oh happy day! I am saved! All I do is look at my notifications on Facebook and suddenly, I have no credit.

FML.

Day 5:

My brother and I decide to have a long-overdue Star Wars marathon. We’re ten minutes into it when we realize that soon our villainous father will be home (he knows the internet’s out, okay? He knows and he is still refusing to pay the bill for next month. Evil I tell you. T__T) and that I am supposed to be studying so we retire to our respective rooms and our sad lives that now consist of Madame Bovary and moaning, respectively.

Day 6:

Dad is away to Faisloo (as in Faisalabad. Except Faisloo is so much cooler, right. Like Isloo.) for some legal shit so we plan a bahir-ki-iftari with Ammi. The bahir-ki-iftari goes as planned. It’s fun really, plus it takes our minds off our more distressing problems. On the way back we stop at the office of our internet-provider, the one that is nearest to our place. It is 7.45 pm. We pull up and the windows are dark. The office is closed. Upon further inquiry we discover that it won’t open till another forty five minutes.

We resign ourselves to our fate and return, dejected, to our sad sad lives.

Day 7:

I have progressed from pons to dinosaur fetuses. At least that’s what they look like to me. I’ve spent the day either staring at them or drifting off into unnecessary naps that last too long. I have exhausted the playlist of songs on my phone and am now listening to this on repeat.

People just ain’t no good.

My brother is useless. He can’t even drive these days because he broke his foot by bashing it against his guitar. Someday, when he’s a famous musician, they’ll tell this story.

Ha.

I discover that the dinosaur fetuses are actually chicken. Fetuses.

Hurray.

Day 8:

All my friends think that I’ve died.

I put cherry-red lipstick on and practice my British accent.

Day 9:

Nothing seems to work. I’ve tried to crack the password on my neighbors’ wifi, but tariq1, coolboi and meganfox4eva don’t work.

Things look bleak.

Things look bleak.

jashne azadi ke khasoosi moqay par, laado sabun ke tamam sarifeen ko dilli eid mubarik!

Yeah, so it's Choda Agasst.

(aghast! alas!)

If I say something, I'll come across sounding like a cynical old fart, so let's just listen to this excellent song and forget Meera Patti ever existed.

So kewls right.

sleep.

I absolutely hate it when someone wakes me up before I plan to. It's not right. It's criminal. It's wrong. I want to give the person who does the waking-up a good bashing. The only good way to wake a person up is by tickling them. That's what my mother does anyway.

Ha.

Today was no different. Now since I have a few days of summer vacation left, I would very much like it if I could sleep to my heart’s content.

But NO. WHY would anyone let me sleep?

The 'anyone' in question here: My maasi.

Now she's a nice person and all, and I usually don't mind her cleaning my room, she's just doing her job right?

But on mornings when I plan to sleep in, she is the most foul and villainous of all creatures to EVER have existed. Ever.

I'll tell you why. I'll tell you why.

I sleep like an absolute ass. And if someone disturbs me all I want to do is throw a big tantrum and bawl like a baby. So every morning, while I am blissfully drooling all over my pillow enjoying my slumber, BANG opens the door and the light starts to suddenly stream in. My first reaction is to recoil, shrink away from it as if I am a vampire who shall crumble if exposed to light.

(It burnsss uss, it burnsss ussssss!)

Wait that's Gollum. Ah well.


All I can see through my sleep hazed eyes is a shadowy silhouette of Amazonian proportions, the figure of a big-bosomed woman wielding her trusty jharoo high. And first thing she does is turn the damn fan off. Now summers here in Pakistan are very hot. Extremely hot. If you don't bathe everyday, soon you'll start smelling like a sardine that has gone to rot.  

But I digress. 

The point is, it's so hot that without any sort of circulation of the air around you, you start to feel suffocated. And that, my friends, is not a good feeling at all. Now since, thanks to loadshedding, the AC hasn't been on the whole night, the room is already starting to get uncomfortable. I start squirm and roll around in my comforter, and the snowy mountains in my dreams start spouting lava.

So along comes the villainous maasi and she turns the flipping fan off.

Then she flings the door open so all the lovely cool air inside goes gushing out out out and then she enters the room, and starts pulling various chaddars from underneath me, chaddars to fold. She is, during the course of the entire operation, waving her dusty jharroo over my head so I receive a generous showering of happy little dust bunnies. I scrunch up my nose and fidget and turn and try to go back to sleep again but NO she won't let that happen. I am forced to wake up and stumble out of the room zombie style and go try to throw a hissy fit in front of my mother who has been up for several hours now and is in no mood to baby me.

Sigh. And double sigh.

I think I’ll have to resort to locking my room from the inside.

how is your life today?

bhooki hoon mai.

Greaseburger and fries. And a large milkshake.

I'd kill for that right naow. O__o

PATRICK :D

pagal.

I hate it when Ammi drags me along to dinners and receptions and parties hosted by people that I don’t know.

It is horrible. It is painful. It is torturous.

I sit there trying not to get bored out of my mind while the aunties gossip and the uncles discuss politics. I am left to socialize with their offspring, if any, or sit and watch TV. Or read the newspaper. Or maybe sit with them and listen in. Basically do whatever the hell I want to do. Now obviously my mother would like if I behaved like the mature young lady she expects me to be and talk to the aunties about makeup and the uncles about sports and the kids about Cow And Chicken and conduct myself like a well-spoken confident young woman.

I can’t do it. I just cannot. I sit and sulk and watch TV for a bit and wait for the food. And then I eat. And then I start getting bored so I sort of lose it.

The last time I sort of lost it was last week. We were at my mom’s khala's for an insanely sumptuous dinner (YESSSS.) and I was, as usual, bored out of my mind. I was randomly digging around in my bag, making a mental inventory of all the stuff in there, and I came across these shades that someone once gave to me. They’re square and have diamantes on the sides and they are totally lawls. I immediately put them on. Right there in the sitting room full of aunties who tch-tch at even a hint of unladylike behavior. They ignored me for a bit, and then two of the younger aunties started snickering at me.

‘How’s the view from in there, theek nazar aa raha hai?’

I replied that yes thank you I can see very well and continued staring at them through my asamkewl shades. They were staring to get uncomfortable. Then the khala asked me if I was feeling okay.

I loudly told her that I had pinkeye.

I think I embarrassed Ammi. Hhahahhahahhaahhahahahahaha. :B

She told everyone not to mind me because I’m a shodi and everyone proceeded to laugh hysterically.

I really couldn’t care less. At least it made the evening more interesting.

 :B

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.

I think Johnny Flynn is hot.
And he has a British accent.

it wears her out

The retro viruses were totally cool.

And the thing was, she reflected, that she didn’t really want to, anyhow. It wasn’t as if she didn’t care; she just did not want to. But people didn’t seem to understand. Whenever she filled up the lined yellowed pages of her huge purple notebook, whenever she spaced out in the middle of a crowd, whenever she felt like going to sleep forever just so she could be away from questions and prying eyes and people who unnecessarily bugged her, they looked at her as if she was crazy and talked about shrinks and psychiatrists.

They took her once.

They took her once and she hated the man from the moment she laid her eyes on him, from his fat blubbery lips to the three hairs pasted across the wide expanse of his bald head. He was methodological; he seemed to lack any real empathy. She hated him. He made her fill out a bunch of forms and she knew how it went, the whole charade and she ticked off the options she knew she was supposed to tick off. He told her to talk to him to tell him about what went on in her head. 

She hated hated hated him. 

You can’t imagine, she thought. You haven’t the slightest idea what goes on in my mind, and I won’t won’t let you in not ever you can’t get in there, never ever. She talked to him though. Because otherwise she wouldn’t have been allowed to leave. She told him what she wanted to hear, she knew how to deal with his sort; she knew how to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, that she would work on it, that she was deeply depressed. They always pinned it all on her belonging to what they called a ‘broken family’ even though she couldn’t really see what was so broken about it, herself. She wasn’t the least bit bothered that her father had left her and her mother when she was six; she couldn’t care less not really. If he was as much of a moron as she remembered, they were better off without him. And really did it matter did it really? An ‘emotionally balanced upbringing’ was apparently not possible under these circumstances, but she didn’t really see how that was. Sarah from grade school had two moms and she turned out fine didn’t she. Fine by them. They didn’t try to take her afterwards. 

The shrink wrote her off as clinically depressed and gave her a plastic bottle full of pink pills that she was supposed to take once daily. They made her pleasantly drowsy so she once took three at the same time and spent the rest of the day in a pleasant stupor and when her mother found out she had to go to the hospital to have her stomach pumped and then the mother kept them locked in a drawer in her cupboard. 

She was understandably bummed. 

She just got one pill a day and she couldn’t even write; all she wanted to do was sleep all day because her brain felt suppressed, dull. 

She painted though in those days. She painted huge paintings with red slashes down their centers and strawberries for heads. She painted lion carcasses and orange war moons, and bloodbirds hovering above. She painted her socio teacher and how surprised he looked at finding himself in a roomful of adolescents not wanting to be there. She painted cans of apple juice. She painted worms rent with fury. 

She filled up pages upon pages and no one thought much of them just one boy the one with the clear sad brown eyes thought they were good except that he never said anything just looked and looked and never talked. She wished he would, wished that someone would make her feel better about herself instead of putting her down and criticizing and putting her under scrutiny for all the wrong reasons. She hated hated it all. She wished the world would make sense. She wished that it would make sense to her, that the weather should match her mood, that she shouldn’t always feel as if she was walking, trudging through a dream. 

She would like very much though to walk on air and consort with cloaked strangers who flew off with bursts of smoke. She wouldn’t mind having a pet dragon to fly on to roar with when she was madder than mad. She wouldn’t mind having tea with the Hatter. She wouldn’t mind if the trees bleeded their colours onto the pavement and people slipped in it and rolled themselves into green gravel coated delicacies ready for frying. She wouldn’t mind if the whole world was under the scrutiny of some giant unknown creatures working for the greater good. 

She wouldn’t mind, no, not at all. 

Not at all.

khanay walon ko khanay ka bahana chahiye :D

Food. Food is awesome.

The best kind of food, obviously, is of the free variety. The sort you get at weddings, ufff. Matlab keh uffff. Nothing like mountains of artery-clogging, ulcer-inducing cheap food cooked in diesel. Wah wah wah. Also the sort you get when someone's treating you on their birthday.

LAWL.

Then there is of course comfort food. I've heard people say that comfort food is a myth. I tell them screw you, live and let live you party poopers. If someone feels better if they eat three glazed donuts in a row just because they feel down, LET THEM.

And then, And then. There is food sneaked in the middle of the night. Food that you suddenly get a craving for, and then you go steal it from the fridge nasty and cold but it's totally worth it. I was once caught wolfing down biryani by the spoonful at four in the morning by my paternal aunt. Now Phuphoo already thinks I'm weird ( I dunno, I just know she does, for some odd reason.. :D) and OMG the look she gave me was just epic.

I also like sneaking ice cream out of the freezer at night.

I also like eating Everyday. Yes, Everyday. The tea whitener. And yes, eating. I eat actual spoonfuls of the stuff and it's actually pretty good. Kind of gross at first but good :D


HAHAA. I have probably totally grossed you out by now. But IDC. ^^

annoying log.

Hahaha look what I found :D

I wrote this agess back, must've been pretty pissed at that time.

It's a list of the sort of people who annoy me XD

1. People (especially fat aunties) who practically bulldoze you over at weddings so that they can get to the food first. In the case of the aunties, this can be rather painful, owing to the fact that they are sticking their bejeweled bent arms out, and are wearing clothes with so much embroidery on them that they resemble chain mail. They usually then proceed to pile their plates so high with botian (kukkar ho to best hai!); they would put Mt Everest to shame.

2. People who, in broad daylight, wear sunglasses. These are usually the Gucci (pronounced ‘guski’)/Armani/Ray Ban imitations you can get by paying fifty rupees to a roadside stall vendor (available in all colours.). Especially annoying if you are trying to talk to the person in question, and cannot see their eyes. Due to obvious reasons.

3. The salesmen in practically all types of stores, from places selling CDs to books to ketchup, who follow you around the whole goddamn, hanging around at the end of the aisle and staring at you, apparently trying to make sure you do not steal anything. Yes, my sole purpose in life is to shove a roll of toilet paper up my sweater and run out of the store without getting caught. In fact, it's the reason I was born. I've been getting special training for it since I was two months old! :/

4. People, in buses and various other means of public transport, who like to discuss their business deals on their mobile phones at the top of their voices so the whole world can hear. They simply cannot understand the fact that their fellow passengers may not want to know how much they are selling their piece of land on the suburbs of Gut Wala for! Matlab seriously, dude, keep it down!

5. Persons in buses (usually seated right in front of you) who like to recline their seats as far back as possible and then incessantly move about, trying to get comfortable while you are smushed up in the back, thinking what a significant amount of effort it is taking to draw in breaths. It is also particularly unfortunate if they happen to frequently break wind..

6. People who have extremely bright white headlights fitted in their cars and enjoy turning them up and flashing them in your eyes at night when you are passing them from the opposite direction, making it virtually impossible for you to see where you are going. Shoday kahin key.

7. Aunties and uncles who come to visit with their bratty children, and tell them to go and play with ‘behna’ (the horror) or ‘bhai’. They then proceed to ruin your belongings, and yell for mumsy if you refuse to give them something in particular. Such as your cellphone. Or your laptop. 

8. People who tell you the life history of all their family and extended-family members and then expect you to remember What Gondal Uncle Said On Lala Bhai’s Wedding. When you fail to answer (which is very likely) they refuse to talk to you for weeks. Good riddance.

9. The 'photographers' that have suddenly started popping up on Facebook. Seriously, taking pictures with a DSLR and making them go a little blurry at the edges does not make you a photographer. Please stop.

dory.

Gilly little fish floating around

Fish colorful and fish wasting their lives away and fish sad

They looked at me weird, looked at me like I was the one out of place not them

I looked back and told them that soon they would be coated in cornmeal and fried

They were horrified

Mr. Bastard.

My dad knows someone called Mr. Bastard.


When he told us yesterday I was all LAWL WHUTT ABBU. And I was, like totally ROFLMAO.


Well, not really, but yeah. Funny it was. Apparently it's pronounced 'Bast-uh'. 


Poor guy :D


SOO I AM FINALLY DUNZ WITH EXAMS AND UNIVERSITY INTERVIEWS AND SHIZZ AND YAY I CAN NOW WASTE TIME GUILTLESSLY! :D


Oh the other day Ammi got me my favourite cereal (Koko Krunch ^^) and I haz obtained a free Rio ki game ki CD! Free things are the best right.


HURR-YAYYY.


Why am I even writing this? 


I don't know, no not really. But the thing is, I shall be posting regularly now, so watch out bitchezz.


I shall leave you with a song (WTF do I think I am? A Radio Jockey? HMPH). It's by Radiohead. I love Radiohead. Radiohead is the best. Radiohead is totally kewllxx. 


Has anyone noticed the HUGE mosquitoes flying around in Islamabad these days? No? I didn't think so. I don't think any of you live in Islamabad.
THEY'RE SO BIG I SWEAR THEY'RE ON STEROIDS MANNN :O :O 


Okay I'll STFU now. Enjway ze saang, plzzzzzzzzzxxx:

Man. My mother is singing weird old Punjabi songs in a high pitched voice just to annoy me. Uff.


Khair.


LATORZ! :D

I hate it when the earphones stop working when I'm listening to doom metal because I'm feeling suicidal.

Kills the mood.

Fuck them.

baghairtaa! kootayy!

The other day I had to go out to TCS some university stuff to Karachi. I usually like getting out of the house during exam season, it's refreshing, a change of scenario. But I had gotten pretty annoyed by the time I got back home. Why?


Because of the STARING.


I just don't get it. It's like they've never seen women before. Kaminay.


Khair, that's not the point here. I can swear at them for the next five days and still not run out of curse-words.


Point is, my mom was with me. She was, as usual, bohat pissed at the starers. But this time I nearly bust out laughing when she started grumbling, because I was reminded of this:


WATCH IT. NOW.

AAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH


Just IMAGINE my situation. I was in the middle of a public marketplace, and my mind was repeatedly being assaulted by images of my mother verbally abusing those bastards, calling them 'KOO-TAYY', right there in public.


Matlab ke, UFFFFF :D :D :D


It was taking every bit of my self-control not to start laughing like a hyena right there. Which would, of course, not do much for the staring problem. I had a weird, contorted smirk on my face all the way to the car.


Maza aya.




P.S. The video is by Naked Tyrant Productions. These guys are hilarious. 
Show some love, go like their Facebook page!

what iz the scene?

I had my statistics final today. It went kinda weird. Dunno, can't say. But I think I'll be spending these vacations praying that the percentile is lowered this year.


:O


Since I feel like I must do something to alleviate this strange ohfuckthisihouldhavestudied feeling, I am going to play one of my favourite songs and sing along to it.   


P.S. I highly recommend this excellent song as a cure-all for feelings of depression, anxiety, hyperness, over-excitement, lovey-dovey-ness and every other feeling imaginable.

Here are the lyrics for your convenience:

Mojambo

What is the TAM

Hun budday ho gay BULLAY LUTT

Come on and Bumbu Jam

Mojambooooo

What is the scene

Mojambo

How are you

Bachee teree nuss gaee

O war gaee tathay khoo

Mojambooooo

What is the scene

Mojambo

What is in your DABBA

Saree ratee khajjal hoya

Fir vee kuj nahin labba

Mojamboooo

What is the scene

Mojambo

Sprite Miranda Teem

Shauki billa Kithay oye

You are so Azeem

Mojambo

What the HUCK

Uttay kee wekhda renhna ain

THALLAY vee tay tak

Mojamboooo

What is the scene

WHAT IS THE SCENE

Ah. Nothing like good music.