cp wren

The Best Broad gripped the balcony and loudly diagnosed, “It’s binna perfectly hideous party! Everyone! Get the fuck out!” You escaped boredom, “Excuse me,” your black-laced Spanish wedding fan snapped shut, “there seems to be a problem with one of the guests.” I ran with the speedy grace of a drunk on an ice rink. Your groom tackled me standing. He rocked me, held me tight. He murmured, “You’ll never ever lose her.”