You really know when you’ve taken a wrong turn when you win a personalized, whatever that means, three inch in diameter tattoo.
Me, of all people, who hate them. Apparently I entered a raffle, unbeknownst to me, when I bought skull socks at a store in Soho. I got them for a friend, to be funny, who was down in the dumps. My note read…see, things could be worse…you could have modeled for these.
I do not want a tattoo…I don’t even want socks, but it got me thinking. I’ve never won anything in my life except a canary at the Danbury State Fair when I was nine that died in the car before I got home. No, I did not make that up. Then I could legitimately leave my brain to science.
How could I forget such a thing I was so devastated by.
“They’re mass produced,” I remember…
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