Camo never goes out of style as far as I'm concerned.
The American heroes are wearing camo. That's not me.
What you see is what you see.
A cold blast hit him and he laughed at the sting as he stepped outside, surveyed the night sky, and drank deeply. Such a good liar he was. Such a good one. Everyone thought he was fine because he'd camo'd his little problems. He wore a Sox hat to hide the eye twitch. Set his wristwatch to go off every half hour to beat back the dream. Ate though he wasn't angry. Laughed though he found nothing funny. And he'd always smoked like a chimney.
I’ll leave you guys to get acquainted. Somebody show Leo to dinner when it’s time?” “I got it,” one of the girls said. Nyssa, Leo remembered. She wore camo pants, a tank top that showed off her buff arms, and a red bandanna over her mop of dark hair. Except for the smiley-face Band-Aid on her chin, she looked like one of those female action heroes, like any second she was going to grab a machine gun and start mowing down evil aliens. “Cool,” Leo said. “I always wanted a sister who could beat me up.
You expect a basketball player to come with a white button-down, Balmain jeans, and Balenciagas. You expect that. But when I come with an extended button-down, camos, no socks, Louboutins that have spikes on them, and a bow tie with diamonds, you'll be like, "What? Who dressed him?"
No. The real heroes wear camo. I'm not one of them.
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