Cherokee | Dr Ass _top_
Wren opened her mouth. And sang. A single, perfect, low B-flat that rattled the jars of dried sage on the shelf. Then she whispered: “The moth knows.”
“What are you—HEY!”
Dr. Ass wrote a prescription: one golden retriever, three friends who lie to you kindly, and no mirrors for six months. cherokee dr ass
Dr. Ass prescribed a pair of welding goggles and a porch swing. Wren talked for three hours that night. Her mother cried. Wren opened her mouth