The Trash Tramps Guide to Summer 2025
In a very particular order:
Smooth cigarettes.
Shorts so short they may as well just be panties.
The color orange.
Sweat. Lots of sweat.
Full bush. If you’re shaving your vag, you’re not invited to the party.
On a similar note, pit hair! Let me get all up in your pheromones.
Bowie. Specifically pre-Berlin. Thin White Duke is acceptable, but you have to be able to back it up with a developing or long standing coke problem.
Disco.
Prioritizing your own orgasm. He’ll be fine.
Getting sunburned so badly at the beach that your girl has to sensually rub aloe vera all over your naked, peeling flesh.
Gaslighting strangers
Richard Hell’s feud with Tom Verlaine. Pick a side, stick to it, start as many arguments about it as possible and then pretend like you’ve never heard of Television.
Gaslighting friends.
Sobriety.
Pen pals.
Poetry.
The inevitable drinking problem that manifests once you start writing poetry.
Tom foolery, shenanigans, hijinx, and even a little bit of monkey business.
Junkie business.
Making love. NOT fucking. I’m talking passionate, slow, intimate, tantric.
Yelling the lyrics of any Johnny Thunders song at negroni drinkers on St. Marks.
Filth.
Kimonos & pasta on the fire escapes with the girls.
Only sleeping with musicians that are willing to write a song about your vagina, á la Lux Interior.
Dancing like everyone’s watching.
Sexual tension.
Tripping balls on the beach.
Three square meals a day to make up for all the drinking that was kickstarted by your poetry writing.
Road trips with strange, eccentric men.
John Waters.
Red bikinis and big sun hats.
Reading the book the film adaptation was based on.
Being horny all the goddamn time.

Well yes!