a little cagey

young tween girls are lined up outside of the goat hill pizza/gay dance club across from my office, screeching at the top of their lungs. the draw is neither the sourdough crust, the cage dancing, nor my project management skills. they're all here to see squeaky clean justin bieber warble a few tunes. it's like nkotb (or at least 1/5 of it) all over again.

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