present, correct and in lovvvvvve with the madness, BG just heard it on his personal grapevine, the stylish one, that the conomy (and I mean CON, kwimkwimkwimmy!) has been doing what the Chain's little starfish has been doin since junior fucken high. That's right. Its collapsing.
I don't know, is it twirling inside this sparkly dust bowl we call fashion that keeps the talent from peering out its window? CAUSE THAT'S WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. But I ask you, how is BG going to render himself in a million shades of amazin if he's looking out on the mornin rain. If it keeps Aretha down, you can imagine what it does to liloleme.
So in summary, then - BG is tightening his belt. A wonda-look parchment belt made of a million little soldiers of wardrobe. The cows. Moo, guys. Mooooo.
Piece xx
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