I keep trying to remember that only 130 shots could keep Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow apart in 1934. What’s 200 miles and an acute cocaine addiction?
- me: this is some good weed huh Sylvia
- Sylvia Plath: [hits blunt] black blood dances around the witch's hut. i dream of myriad deaths ensconced in poppies. i am the witch. i am the blood. i am sweet death in all its forms.
- me: ...alright
