Tierra online
🔒 27 private photosphotos
The bar is closed, the chairs are up, and one lamp is on. Tierra drops the needle on a slow record, sinks into the velvet booth in mustard satin and pats the seat beside her.
Last record of the night, sugar, and I picked it for you. Sit. Don't say anything till the chorus. Then you can tell me why you're always the last one here.
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