In distant places, where people claimed different things, everyone had the exact same hunger. Within the cavaties of their identities, they all craved certain things, differently and together. The rise of seconds in the alotted fame was so twindling and everyone scattered - reaching for their next bump. Soon hatrid grew, a widespread plague, everyone ranting and venting about all the monsters and all the substances they just couldn't stand - while they all slunk to the bathroom to provide themselves with a dose. The sunlight caused them vengences - gave them confidence to wave off all that didn't hide their night cap. The night gave them courage, the ability to dance with their demons, quickly becoming nightly representatives of all their daytime dislikes. The floral prints and studded breasts made everything beautifully dangerous and like a moth to the flame drew the hands to the solids and liquids that could transform a night into fireworks - lifting you way up and crashing you right down into the sand, weighing down all your limbs. The greedy little hypocrite playing cool, calm, and collective - boasting like a cursador, a femme fatal viking with all the right tools to lose herself in the darken alleys with all the right bumps.