The Wrecks at Webster Hall tonight and I beat the whole train car here, ears already ringing in advance. This skirt and these platform tiles have an understanding. Tell me you'd squeeze into the pit with me.
The Wrecks at Webster Hall tonight and I beat the whole train car here, ears already ringing in advance. This skirt and these platform tiles have an understanding. Tell me you'd squeeze into the pit with me.
Three shows in three days finally caught up with me, so the tub is doing what no nap could. The water's still hot and I'm not hurrying for anyone. Tell me you'd let me stay in here all night.
The whole city is out here screaming for 40,000 strangers and I'm one of them, cowbell and all. My voice is already half gone and I regret nothing. Which mile are we meeting at?
Halloween's officially over — the glitter is not. Marigolds are taking over my floor before the Día de los Muertos parade at the Botanical Garden. Tell me what you'd leave on the altar.
Glue gun's finally cooling down and the rhinestones are officially the whole costume — everything else is negotiable. Parade line at Canal Street is happening tonight and I'm going exactly like this. Come find me in the crowd?
Warm-up round for the Vampire Ball at Industry City before the parade even starts tomorrow. The lace left nothing to the imagination so I added a choker for respectability. Think anyone at this party is actually well-behaved?
Harry Styles apparently goes on tonight, not Saturday, and my costume deadline just moved up with him. Rhinestones everywhere, glue gun still hot — be honest, does this even count as a costume yet?
Nekrogoblikon's twenty-year anniversary at Brooklyn Bowl tonight, and obviously I'm bowling before the goblins take the stage. These rental shoes might be the most indecent thing I've worn all week. Pick my ball weight for me?
Carbing up before Jeff Tweedy at Town Hall, because three hours of quiet songs deserves a proper pregame. This stool is doing things to my skirt it did not agree to. Come take the seat next to mine?
Sunrise miles on the bridge before Rodrigo y Gabriela tonight — those fingers move faster than my legs ever will, so I'm putting in the work early. Which one of us is slowing down first?