[Oh God. Poetry. He hated poetry. So much. Especially the poetry of other people who thought they were clever when really they couldn't rhyme their way out of a paper bag on fire. Or put in little artistic flourishes that made him think of Shatner except that he'd lapsed into a coma every ten minutes]
I'll be there. [kill him now] Do I have to wear anything, or--?
no subject
I'll be there. [kill him now] Do I have to wear anything, or--?