The key to paradise was for poor people. Thousands of young kids, promised a better life, exploded on the minefields with their keys around their necks. Meanwhile, I got to go to my first party. Not only did my mom let me go, she also knitted me a sweater full of holes and made me a necklace with chains and nails. Punk rock was in. I was looking sharp.
— Aug 10, 2012 06:57AM
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