What's your question, son?
What's your question, son?
This thread is gross
Are you implying I'm too poor to set foot in Santa Fe?
It's simple:
Hello Mr. Indian. I have some Jack Daniels here... Ya... you like it, huh? You want some...?
Then punch him in the face, reach into his pocket and steal the drugs, and run like Hell. If you get caught, you can kiss your precious hair goodbye.
I no longer have any hair. What do they take in place of that? My soul or my dreams?