intentional pompadour ‌southern culture in images and words‌ is a free quarterly zine based out of Augusta, Georgia and published by Francie Klopotic submissions accepted by southern creatives send your work or subscription request in the body of an email to: moonaluna@yahoo.com if you are published, you will receive a copy of the issue in which your work is featured and you will retain all rights to your work issue 11 summer 2020 cover art by William Marasco support the zine as a Patreon patron a yearly subscription can be had for as little as $1 a month! pledge now at https://www.patreon.com/intentionalpompadour thank you for your support of southern culture!
Welcome to Summer! Hello and welcome to the summer 2020 issue of intentional pompadour. This is the first special issue, touching on the pandemic we’ve been facing for the past several months. As usual, there is no rhyme nor reason nor table of contents here, so flip the pages at your leisure to find the following:
Check out the spring poetry: Rock Hill, SC poet A.L: “The Shift” Augusta, GA poet Jezibell Anat: “Enclosed” & “Decline” Cumming, GA poet T. Leon Bigham: “Covid 2020” Venice, FL poet Kimberly Laettner: “Chaos Lament” Augusta, GA poet J. Martin-Moses: “Hey 2020, I’m Okay” Clarks Hill, SC poet Pete Wood: “The Crossroad of Changes” Augusta, GA poet Catherine Zickgraf: “Our Races” Evans, GA artist Christina Rice debuts with her piece “The Influenza Pandemic of 1918-1919” and she shares a piece of her magnificent mixed media work In her portrait of Maude Fealy. Augusta, GA columnist Magnolia Lee reveals her upcoming romance, written under the pseudonym Savannah Marlowe. Enjoy a snippet from her debut novel, “Say it in Spring” North Augusta, SC writer Charles Campbell gives us a sneak peek at his new novel, “I Know I Will Die in the Silence – The Burryman” Augusta, GA artist Dianne Sessions shares her The Veggie Voice piece, “Totally Into Tomatoes” Rock Hill, SC poet A.L. gives us a Pandemic Story Augusta, GA artist Francie Klopotic shares her portrait of David Bowie Selfie Series by Alexandria, VA’s Anthony Marasco: “Panic at Blick” Enjoy another installment of Cobie’s Corner. He’s ready for his hoomans to go back to work. In his column, International Troubadour, Aiken, SC musician John Stoney Cannon shares his piece “Learning to Play in the Quarantine Café”
Email me at moonaluna@yahoo.com if you’d like to be a part of this project. I am unable to pay in $ but will mail you a hard copy of the issue where your work is featured. You retain all rights to your work. Did you know we now have a Patreon? www.patreon.com/intentionalpompadour Thanks for coming along. Enjoy the ride, and always remember
CHAOS LAMENT By Kimberly Laettner Eyes glazing iced in frustration and shock, one after another it all falls down like a friendly game of Dominos that’s lost the joy, winners pitted against losers, but as it tumbles to the ground we all lose somehow. Humanity-Patience-Honor Empathy-Hope-Love words caught in the mire as ignorance rears it’s ugly head, can we slash and burn these days and return to civility, if that’s even a word, anymore? We know we cannot unsee the tragedy seen but can we, instead, reach a peaceful hand in unity? Can we try to be better than our fathers, fathers, father? Step to the curb and hold a hand out give freely to a friend in need, start something good, Anything Good. Can the children ever believe in something more? Something better than the nothingness handed out today? K. L. Laettner is a published author and poet from Venice, FL, via Hamburg NY. She resides in paradise with her husband and number one fan, Jeffery, and a menagerie of four-legged furry children. ‘Tales From The Thrift’ and ‘Diary of a Middle-Aged Mermaid’ are her first two fiction books, and both can be found on Amazon or at talesfromkllaettner.square.site. You can find her poetry blog with over 4,200 followers at zipsrid.wordpress.com.
HEY 2020 I’M OKAY By J. Martin-Moses I cry because the story is too horrible to bear Someone that I did not know – why do I care The future comes alive in a case like this I mourn the loss of some unknown Who I cannot miss But 2020 I’m okay I cry because the medicine I take leaves me weary Caught in a drugged-out stupor makes the world dreary The future seems muddled in a case like this I mourn the loss of comfort when in pain like this 2020 I’m still okay I cry because there’s no cure I won’t live to see it all But only by myself so as not to worry them at all The future seems lost in a case like this I mourn the loss of family and friends who I will miss Hey 2020 I’m okay J. Martin-Moses resides in Augusta, GA where her passion for writing poetically speaks to and through the heart. Raised in Brooklyn, NY, she has always had a love and appreciation for the Arts. Just as her work demonstrates a fusion of City sass and Southern charm, she wanted to bridge the gap between musicians and poets; singers and spoken word artists. With this in mind, she answered the call of Mad Studios to begin hosting their weekly open mic sessions. It was there that she debuted her first original playwright “1st Works Spoken—The Play”. She later hosted weekly open mic sessions at That Place Coffee Shop and Joe’s Underground; all to unite the various artistic communities of the CSRA.
OUR RACES By Catherine Zickgraf I’m angry my ancestors hacked red stripes and white scars into the backs of your ancestors. You and I both want our kids to thrive, but first you teach your kids to survive. The world feels made just for mine— may they recognize they were born into privilege. But may they also recognize grace lays its hands on those who mourn. You grow strong through cage bars, you stretch to the sky. We try to own Heaven, we want to climb you but slip. So many of us are blind.
Catherine Zickgraf’s main jobs are to hang out with her family and write poetry. Her work has appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her recent chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press. Read and watch her at caththegreat.blogspot.com
THE SHIFT By A.L. Shift of Focus From Pandemic to Change: Peace, equality, good life for all. We’ve twisted, distorted and lied, on who do we call? Personal agenda, greed, repressions, what do we see? What is our new direction? Staged, engaged, provoking, enraging protect the people, for the people, only some people. God hear my voice as I cry out to you. You created us to love and worship YOU. Along the way we are to share love and truth. Politically correct, no not at all. Hoping and giving, watching others fall, reaching out with desperate love- conflicting, confusing, tortured, and dead. When can we listen? Love and share, be supportive at best. Crying for others, reaching out…does anyone hear? Jesus help us to make sense of this. Sadness and weeping, alone in pain. Jesus help us as we call on your name. Save us, change us, shape us like you. Living in peace, it’s what we long to do. Breakout poet A.L. lives and writes in Rock Hill, SC
PANIC AT BLICK Photos by Anthony Marasco
MAUDE FEALY
By Christina Rice
Charcoal/mixed media portrait of the actress Maude Fealy, based on a photograph taken in 1918, the year of the so-called Spanish Influenza. Visit Christina online at https://www.christinaart.com
The Veggie Voice By Dianne Sessions Tasty, tantalizing, tenacious. Lovely sliced, diced or in liquid form (ketchup). Canned, bottled or off of the vine, tomatoes are a very large ingredient, for many of us, to our cooking experience. Who cannot wait for that very first fresh salad or tomato sandwich. Or spicy ketchup on that freshly cooked French fry. Tomatoes were, when first recorded, regarded as ornamental and certainly nothing to consume. Originating, according to some historians, in Western South America, the original tomato was yellow and about the size of a pea. The Spanish, then introduced the tomato to the Europeans & possibly elsewhere. Everyone was skeptical about the tomato at first as it is a member of the nightshade and belladonna family. But, the mature fruit does not contain Tomatine, a toxin found in the leaves and immature fruit of the tomato. Tomatoes can be grown as a vine or as a small tree/bush. They need LOTS of room for that root base. Those novelty upside down containers hardly afford the poor tomato good nutrition unless you constantly check your water and fertilize often. Place your tomatoes in, at least, a 5 gallon bucket (bigger is better). Ever took a notice to the little "hairs" along a tomato stem? Each one of those hairs is a potential root. This is why the tomato is labeled a vine. You can lay down your tomato and those "hairs" develop into roots to anchor the tomato down. A trellis works for tomatoes or simply cage them for support. There are loads of possibilities.
Blossom end rot is usually a cry for calcium. Some folks add powdered dolomitic lime and mix with the soil to "sweeten" or "level" the ph in the soil. 7.5 is the PH number that is most desired. If you want tomatoes to produce well into the summer, make sure you pick up the indeterminate type of tomato for a summer full of tasty fruit. (Determinate tomato varieties fruit all at once and then stop). Horn Worms can be one of the biggest pests to tomatoes. They are the masters of disguise and blend into the plant very well. Surprisingly so as these worms get very large. Best control of these critters is to pluck off the branch they are on if possible. DO NOT use insecticides as you might further damage our bee population. Plant marigolds at the base of tomatoes as they aid in warding off unwanted and non beneficial insects such as stink bugs, etc. Just remember....A substantial pot. (5 gallon or more). Good soil. Plenty of sunshine. Frequent and consistent water and fertilizing habits for a wonderful crop of that lovely red fruit.
COVID 2020 By T. Leon Bigham C hinese O rganism V iolates I nternational D estinies '19
“I earned my Masters in March 2011 at University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL. I have been writing poetry since fifth grade, fifty years of words needed for catharsis.” - T. Leon Bigham
The Influenza Pandemic of 1918-1919 By Christina Rice Estimates of infection and death rates for Influenza vary greatly. There were problems with underreporting at the time & there was no reliable diagnostic test. It’s estimated to have killed 17 million to possibly 100 million people worldwide. In two years, a fifth of the world's population became infected. In the US, 28% of the population contracted the disease, and 500,000 to 850,000 died of it. More people died of Influenza in a single year than in four-years of Bubonic Plague (1347 to 1351.) The 1918 Influenza is considered to be one of the deadliest pandemics in history. In 1918, we were nearing the end of the first World War. Wartime troop movements and close quarters accelerated the spread of the disease, making soldiers especially susceptible. It’s also possible that soldiers' immune systems were already weakened by malnourishment & combat stress. War increased the migration of refugees and displaced persons, who had to contend with crowded and unsanitary conditions. The 1918 pandemic was most deadly for people ages 20 to 40. This was unusual for influenza, which is usually a killer of the elderly and young children. Some sources say it was more deadly in this age group because it triggers cytokine storm due to the stronger immune system of young adults. Spanish Influenza came in waves - spring-summer 1918, the notorious second wave in fall 1918 which killed the most people, & January – June 1919. The world dealt with it much like we’re dealing with Covid. Human nature doesn’t change much in situations of fear and helplessness. Here are some quotes about the 1918 pandemic from various sources:
Epidemiologists have not identified Influenza’s geographic origin. It was called “Spanish” much like some sources are calling Covid the Chinese Virus. “It is our duty to keep people from fear,” said Chicago's health commissioner in 1918. “Worry kills more people than the epidemic." https://www.aarp.org/politicssociety/history/info-2020/spanish-flu-pandemic.html During the 1918 outbreak, court officials in San Francisco held proceedings outside in hope that the open air would prevent infections. https://www.aarp.org/politicssociety/history/info-2020/spanish-flu-pandemic.html
According to historian John M. Barry: “The government lied. They lied about everything. We were at war and they lied because they didn’t want to upend the war effort. You had public health leaders telling people this was just the ordinary flu by another name. They simply didn’t tell the people the truth about what was happening.” https://www.vox.com/coronavirus-covid19/2020/3/20/21184887/coronavirus-covid-19spanish-flu-pandemic-john-barry In July 1918, Sir Arthur Newsholme of the British Royal Society of Medicine advised people to stay at home if they were sick and avoid large gatherings, but later said his recommendation was buried by the government. (https://www.bbc.com/news/in-pictures52564371)
· One official asked: "Is it a fact that a sure preventative against influenza is cocoa taken three times a day?" (https://www.bbc.com/news/in-pictures-52564371) · Much like today, stores closed or required customers to leave orders outside. In the US, some states imposed quarantines, while others tried to make face masks compulsory. Cinemas, theatres and other entertainment spots were closed across the country. (https://www.bbc.com/news/in-pictures-52564371) These efforts were followed at first but then met with opposition from some discontented groups like the Anti-Mask League of San Francisco - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anti-Mask_League_of_San_Francisco.
“When it comes to mental health, the historical record shows that the pandemic, like the war, took a toll on the emotional resilience of those not (or not yet) in harm’s way. The massive and sudden loss of life plunged many into a chronic state of helplessness and anxiousness.” Psychiatric Times - https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/coronavirus/spanishflu-pandemic-and-mental-health-historical-perspective
· For more parallels between then and now, see https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/politicsnews/breaking-point-anti-lockdown-efforts-during-spanish-flu-offer-cautionary-n1202111 on how masks, closings and social distancing played out 1918-1919. Society survived. We will too. Stay Safe!
PANDEMIC STORY By A.L. I'm social and love the freedom to visit and love on folks. I love to drive and meet people along life’s journey. Pandemic strikes. No clue of what to do. How to test for it, be safe from it, please don’t spread it!?! Vaccine? Antidotes? Don’t sneeze, cough, or choke. What to do with my time? No places to go. Watch TV, text, talk on the phone? Put life as we know it on hold. I decided to grow a little garden on my deck. Making food to eat. Planting sprouted beans, onion roots, tomato seeds, potato eyes, dried squash seeds. My new friends are the birds, nesting close by and up high! Lizards whom are hiding, scurry, sunning. I'm getting fresh air and sunshine. Learning to cook new dishes. Rest, time to think and do, for what?? Trying new recipes, cooking, experimenting, trying in my mind; mostly praying for others. Offering hope and encouragement to all. Do you know Jesus? He’s a personal God on whom I love to call. So, life is changing, evolving rearranging. Priorities are new. I'm looking to Jesus. What will you do?
***************************** DECLINE By Jezibell Anat Now is our season of beauty and danger, Sunshine, and flowers, and bane in the air. Some are denying while others are dying, How to keep sane, and how to take care. For a breath may be contagion, And the lightest touch be lethal, We must contact from a distance To avoid a dire bequeathal. We wonder whether we’re doing enough, Watching the date and the days conflate. Our normal dissolves and disappears, Wiping our kitchens and cursing our fates.
Jezibell Anat is an actress, writer and dancer who moved to Augusta from New York City with her husband Joseph Zuchowski (Joe) at the end of 2007. She was involved in independent and original theatre in Manhattan, and now she is the co-creator and organizer of Quickies, the short play festival featuring original scripts by local authors at Augusta’s black-box theatre, Le Chat Noir.
COBIE’S CORNER
Don’t know why the hoomans are at home all the time. Wish they’d go back to work. The only thing that’s good about them being here is that I get more Scooby snacks while they’re feasting away on hooman food. The problem is…I’ve gained so much weight! I kinda wish they’d go back to work. I will miss the extra treats, but solitude and a trim, boyish waistline are worth something, too. –COBIE Ask Cobie a question, if you dare. Email him at moonaluna@yahoo.com
THE CROSSROAD OF CHANGES By Pete Wood Streets alive tonight They drew a line through the city Then they crossed, And no one thought, It would go this way Time and time again We ignite the pain And fan the flames Do we ever stop and criticize Our own hearts, our own minds Just believing it isn’t true Doesn’t change it from being you
SPOTLIGHT ON SOUTHERN NOVELISTS An excerpt from the new novel “I Know I Will Die in the Silence – The Burryman” by Charles Campbell Chapter 12 July 28, 2020: 8:22 AM – Atlanta, GA Scara Slayfield turned over in her bed and glared at the empty pillow. Every morning, Scara felt a twinge of guilt in her gut. Jeff was in prison because he protected her. Scara hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Jeff was sentenced. They were supposed to take a romantic trip to Edinburgh, Scotland and the time for that trip was fast approaching. Scara still had the plane tickets and a reservation for two at the High Street Hotel that were now non-refundable. Scara rolled out of bed and her feet hit the cold, hardwood floor. The chill opened her eyes a bit. She moved sloth-like to the bathroom where the mirror stopped her. She moved toward it as tears filled her eyes. She could almost feel Jeff’s arms wrap around her. Her dark eyes were becoming pools and she moved her long, black hair from in front of her face. The worry lines on her forehead would one day stick if she didn’t find some relief from her grief and depression. Jeff wasn’t dead for God’s sake but he wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to be here for a long time. Scara brushed her teeth quickly to kill the dragon breath that filled her mouth during the restless night. She turned on the shower and waited until she could see the steam rise above the curtain before she pulled off her pajamas and stepped inside. Her cell phone began to ring and she thought to herself that she would return the call. It was Jeff and he had news. She missed the call and there wouldn’t be another one.
Charles Campbell’s books are available online at www.valleyboyproductions.com, Amazon.com, as well as at The Book Tavern on Broad Street in beautiful Downtown Augusta. Charles lives and writes in North Augusta, SC.
MAGNOLIA LEE’S ART CORNER Hi y'all! It's your artsy columnist here. This issue I don't have a column, mainly because of that blasted virus that has shut down a lot of events. But just because artists haven't been performing at large venues or having arts exhibitions, doesn't mean they've been sitting on their laurels. Every artist I know has managed the stress of this pandemic by doing what they do best - creating. Since I'm a writer, I did what I do. I wrote. Now, if you must know I have this place in my heart for romance sappy, sweet stories about people falling in love. I still believe in it. If you're like me, then I have something for you. Check out my pandemic project. It's called "Say It in Spring," and it's written under my pseudonym of Savannah Marlowe. It will be on Amazon in July. I also have a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/savannahmarlowe Here's a snippet from it: I dropped my purse on the floral-patterned couch my parents had bought and was going to start walking toward the kitchen when I noticed that Danni had zoned in on the photographs that were sticking out of my bag. She walked over to them and pulled them out. “If everything is okay, Katie, why did you bring Mikey’s photos home?” she asked as she held them out to me. “I didn’t lose my job, but I cannot talk to you about this now,” I said in a low-pitched voice. She raised an eyebrow. “Gotcha,” she said. We had lasagna for dinner, and Mikey told us all about dinosaurs. It had been his thing for a few months. He was excited that he’d found a new dinosaur book at the school library, and he wanted me to read it to him before he went to sleep. Actually, he wanted to try to read it to me. He was excited about learning to read. He was in kindergarten and improving his reading skills daily. We still enjoyed our nightly story time which was something I started with him before he could even talk. I would miss it when he decided he didn’t need me to tuck him in at night. While Danni got Mikey ready for his bath, I took my photos and put them on my dresser before cleaning the kitchen. Danni was practically a second mother to him. We’d raised him together. I didn’t know what I would do without her. I relied on her a lot, probably too much, but she willingly gave up a lot for him and me. I counted my blessings every day that Danni was in my life. After his bath, I sat on his bed, and he brought the dinosaur book to me. “Would you like to read it to me?” I asked him. He grinned. “Yes,” he said proudly.
The story was about a brontosaurus who got lost from his mother. When he found her, he told her he’d been afraid, but he learned she was afraid she’d lost him too. “Mommy, would you be afraid if you lost me?” he asked, looking up at me with those piercing blue eyes. I touched his cheek and kissed him on the top of the head. “Oh yes, Mikey. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” I hugged him again, and he smiled at me. “Now, it’s time to go to sleep. You have to go to school in the morning.” “Aw, I wanted to read the book again.” “Tomorrow,” I said as I kissed him once again and turned off the light. I walked out into the living room. I wasn’t ready to talk to Danni. “Would you like some hot tea?” I asked. “You and your hot tea,” she said and laughed. “No, I’m fine. But you are definitely not fine.” I made my tea. I liked fruit-flavored teas. They were soothing. She knew I drank them when I was nervous or upset. I came into the room and sat down in the chair while she sat on the couch with her laptop on her lap. She was transfixed on her screen. I’d just taken a sip of tea when Danni made a comment. “Your new boss is quite the hottie,” she said as I choked on the tea and began to cough. “Katie, what’s wrong?” I didn’t answer right away. I stared at her and moved next to her on the couch. I looked over her shoulder at the news conference from earlier. I hadn’t paid much attention when I was there. I tried to hide in the background. I watched Mark as he talked. Maybe this time I could hear what he was saying. He was confident and passionate. He seemed excited about taking over the company. In his interview, he pledged to expand the business operations, not cut back. He said he believed the acquisition of the company would benefit the community in the long run. Danni stared at me as I watched the screen. “My new boss is Mikey’s father,” I finally said, glancing at her. If she’d had tea in her mouth, she would’ve spewed it then. I could tell by the shocked look on her face. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth dropped. “What did you just say?” she asked, staring dead at me. “Mark Kingston is Mikey’s father and my new boss.” She nodded slowly with each word “That’s what I thought you said,” she said.
INTERNATIONAL TROUBADOUR Learning to Play in the Quarantine CafĂŠ A Coffee & Music Feature by John Stoney Cannon of Lokal Loudness
Ever since we were gifted a Keurig I find that my nights end with a final fill-up of the water reserve before I head to bed because, who really wants to wake up in need of coffee only to discover a stumble to the sink for water journey waiting? It's damn near impossible to keep from waking up the wife dragging around cussing over your rotten morning luck while the cat stares at you contemplating your ability to move a handful of cat food from point A to point cat bowl. Heck I'm
surprised there hasn't been a morning that started with sink water in my coffee cup and coffee in her water bowl but despite me dropping many hints of ineptitude in the morning, like clock work she bolts into the kitchen somehow confident that breakfast is on the way. I'm even more surprised that in my foggy early morning state I have yet to stumble over, step on, or even maim the cat as she flies to the kitchen then back and forth bellowing out kitten mumble that I'm certain means something along the lines of “what's taking you so long?!?!” or “do you REALLY have to make so many pit stops?!?!” Maybe the absence of a giant litter box keeps her dumb to the fact that even humans have to make potty stops every once in a while. Or maybe it's just my weird need to turn on the Keurig before I even head to the bathroom for my meds and that first potty pit stop of the day but no matter the reason, in my brain there lies a “kick the day off” routine and it all revolves around the idea that once I've reached the point of having fed the cat, I am minutes away from the company of the only mistress my wife will allow me to steal away with – coffee. Well, and music too but since typically my love is at this point still buried under the covers on the other side of the house, I can sneak in a harmonious javafied threesome. Just as long as I do it quietly. Now one would think in these dangerous days of worldwide detention one would be far less concerned with cranking up the coffee as their first morning task after all, when you have nowhere to go and all day to get there what's the rush right? The smart money says it would just be easier to sleep in until the wife wakes up and not worry about how much stumbling and bumbling noise you make and I guess that includes getting to throw on a record as opposed to a bit of early morning Spotify with the headphones. Don't get me wrong, I do so love that sweet smile on my Boo's face once she herself shuffles outta bed but my creature of habit heart requires the sanctity that comes with early morning seclusion. That alternate reality hidden somewhere beneath my headphones where as king I reign over an empty kingdom where I alone control not only the content but also the coffee maker and the radio dial. Maybe one would consider the need to further disconnect during day after day of isolation odd but consider this – under regular circumstances when the walls inside start to close in, the immediate reaction is to jump in the car and take off to completely different scenery. Even during regular times, I consider my morning oasis my personal change of view if even just to calmly start the day. And did I mention, I have control over the radio dial? Now picking the proper playlist for Recluse Radio each morning is not a task to be taken lightly. Sometimes the sounds are influenced by whether the coffee is hot or iced, other times prodded by what sights are found online, and every so often even swayed by how well I slept. But make no doubt, regardless of the reason, 'tis still I in control of the radio dial. For example, if my morning taster's choice is a hot blend I might choose to spin something mellow to ease into the day. If at first sight my eyes are bull-rushed with a flurry of deflating world news or my Facebook news feed packed with overly pessimistic posts I may choose to lose myself in the time travel of old boyhood bubblegum pop favorites from the sixties and seventies. If I awake with a yearning for cold brew topped with a bit of almond milk then the skies the limit – bring on anything from sweet power pop
to screaming metal and drop a bit of swayful soul in to break things up. Not good for business you say? Let's not forget, that on Recluse Radio I reign as not only the deejay, but program director as well and I get paid handsomely to do so in peace of mind, body, and soul. Oh yeah, and the benefits ain't bad either. Once the boss comes in I get a daily bonus smile, hug, kiss, and the promise of a fair and honest love-filled day making coming back to the real world not just tolerable, but at that point something well worth having waited for. And to be honest, once she's up and about, I still pretty much have say over my coffee, what records I play, the television remote, and my day in general just as long as sometimes I empty the dishwasher, make sure the toilet seat is clean, treat the cat right, occasionally grab her to dance for a few minutes, and most importantly of all, include her in each and every moment but to be even MORE honest, I wouldn't have it any other way. AFTER I leave my temporary morning musical java bunker. And did I mention I am in control of the radio dial? Well OK, at least until her shift starts. Speaking of which, I think I hear her sleepy smile coming now...
mobile: 706.836.5683 info@lokalloudness.com www.lokalloudness.com www.myspace.com/lokalloudnesslive www.myspace.com/stoneyroxxx
The Artist Series: David Bowie An Art Series by Francie Klopotic
Mixed Media
Find Francie at www.francieklopotic.weebly.com