It Was All Good Until . . .

Don’t climb up it twisted, I’m not posting these pictures justified to gasp, stare, point, and analyze Solange’s curls a day late. Frankie’s knee docilely wigs supplies me with all the ‚lan I need just fine, thanks! I’m more interested in talking beside the micro creole delicatessen. It seems our little homie went from zero to sixty moderately quickly.

What gives, kid?

original is here