Tinashe tomorrow means dance rehearsal tonight, and my living room mirror has become the toughest critic I know. Think you've got the stamina to keep up with me on the floor?
Tinashe tomorrow means dance rehearsal tonight, and my living room mirror has become the toughest critic I know. Think you've got the stamina to keep up with me on the floor?
Carl Cox takes over the Palladium and I refuse to show up with weak dance-floor stamina — so the living room rave has officially begun. Rate my form before the real thing.
Switchbacks conquered, legs shaking, still grinning — the whole city looks tiny from up here. Tell me you'd have kept up.
Todd Rundgren at the Wiltern tonight and I'm losing the fight with getting dressed — the sequins are still on the bed and I keep getting distracted by my own reflection. Come zip me up?
Halloween's over but the season isn't — spent tonight building my little altar, marigold petals everywhere and my knees sore from kneeling on the floor. Come light a candle with me?
Fangs are in, cape's barely hanging on, and I'm heading to a costume contest at a cemetery movie night — my kind of Halloween. Too much or not enough? Be honest.
Halloween eve and my costume went through six versions before I gave up and kept the best part. The horns stay on. The rest is negotiable. Coming as my plus one or what?
Aerosmith, Guns N' Roses, Run-DMC — all in one night at the Bowl tomorrow, and my brain won't shut off about it. Tell me you'd stay up with me.
Phoebe Bridgers homecoming shows are this weekend and I'm doing my homework — crate deep in the records, in nothing but an old tour tee. Tell me what you wear to a show that's going to make you cry.
Shaboozey's at the Greek tonight and my body decided doors must already be open — so it's a bubble bath at an hour nobody sane is awake. Tell me you'd climb in and keep me company.