[This is a piece from a book I started writing a long time ago. This is the same book I decided was a piece of crap and stopped writing yesterday. Although I decided that the book was crap, I must admit that I will miss my protagonist’s spunk. As I try and put together a new project, I’ll keep her spirit alive with every new character I create. Then, hopefully  little Mary Jane might make it into another book someday…]

​Deciding if I fell in love with gin or passion first is like deciding if it all started with the chicken or the egg. I guess after awhile, it doesn’t really matter. You can’t have one without the other, and you just accept it. On the other hand, I cannot deny that my earliest memories consist of boys and the pursuit of “passion” more than much of anything else. If I was feeling especially nostalgic, I guess I could tell you about when I was sixteen and finally let a boy get to first base. The bastard wooed little virgin version of Mary Jane with a good old Armageddon reference.

 

If you haven’t seen Armageddon, just picture Ben Affleck using a cute little Australian accent as he explores the two great peaks of Liv Tyler-topia. Then go watch it. Great movie.

 

​Now do not get me wrong. I am not going to waste anyone’s time telling the epic journeys of Mary’s conquest toward copulation. Unfortunately, the passion for gin and passion is a front. It always has been. And let’s be real. It is a damn good one.

Hopefully my randomness isn’t too unbearable. If you are thinking it just might be, then don’t waste your time. I have a way of getting lost in the past and running from the present. It is just me. And this is my story.

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