Write Like It Matters, And It Will.

A Pair Of Blue Noses On The Next Bench Glared Their Disapproval At Evie’s Knee-length Dress. Evie Decided To Give Them A Real Show. She Hiked Her Skirt And, Humming Jauntily, Rolled Down Her Stockings, Exposing Her Legs. It Had The Desired Effect On The Blue Noses, Who Moved Down The Platform, Clucking About The “disgrace Of The Young.” She Would Not Miss This Place.

With Each Shimmy, The Bugle Beads On Their Scandalously Revealing Costumes Swung And Shook. It Was The Sort Of Display Evie Knew Her Mother Would Have Found Appalling—an Example Of The Moral Decay Of The Young Generation. It Was Sexual And Dangerous And Thrilling, And Evie Wanted More Of It.

It Is A Giggle Full Of High Spirits And Merry Mischief, Proof That We Never Lose Our Girlish Selves, No Matter What Sort Of Women We Become.

What Did I Do To Make Mommy Leave?” “you Didn’t Do Anything. This Isn’t Your Fault.” “then Why?” She’d Wailed. “i Don’t Know,” Her Daddy Had Said, And He Looked So Sad. “it Isn’t Fair!” “no, It Isn’t, Baby. Not By A Mile. The World’s Only As Fair As You Can Make It. Takes A Lot Of Fight. A Lot Of Fight. But If You Stay In Here, In Your Own Little Cave, That’s One Less Fighter On The Side Of Fair.

No One Can Steal Our Dream.