Dates in Rosemead

The world offers little novelty lately.
I could use a diversion from the mundane, something soft and breakable to pin beneath a disinterested gaze, to prod until it sings its worship and lays tributes at my feet, then discard without a second thought.
Curiosity earns you nothing. Only the ***less bother to offer themselves as such playthings, and they begin by requesting permission.