S. del Mar
S. is 29 years old.
She is a member of thalassa.
S. is located in New York at Gangsta Fuckin'in love NY.
S. likes to exercise at the gym during off hours and is trying to improve skill in order to get ahead professionally.
*tilts her head w/his*yup, she is flaunting liberty for all 2 see. Want 2 do a historical research?
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| Game: Popmundo |
| Points: 1810 |
| Days Active: 1639 days |
Latest Blog Post
To fall in love with a writer
Maybe in another life, my heart would be more patient, and I wouldn’t feel the need to hold a cigarette. Perhaps in another life—maybe in the 1940s—I’d be standing on the corner of 17th Street in New York City, waiting for a bus.
You’d stumble upon me in a hurry, with a book tucked under your arm and one hand holding your gabardine hat. “Terribly sorry,” you’d say in an out-of-state accent, “are you okay?” as the gentle aroma of my perfume filled the air.
I’d rearrange my coat and respond, “I’m fine.” Then you’d add, “I’m new to New York City and seem to be a little lost. Do you know which bus will take me to 10th Street and North ?”
I’ll say teasingly, “Here in NYC, we’re all a little lost, but you’re in the right spot. Let me give you directions to where you need to go.” — because in this life, I seem to have a better sense of direction.
When the bus arrives, we’ll sit next to each other, and the breeze from the open window behind me will play with my hair as I try to keep it out of my face. We’ll make small talk until you tell me you’re a writer, about to publish your first novel, and on your way to the editorial office. Your eyes will light up as you gracefully share some of the plot with me.
Then you’ll ask what I do, and I’ll say with a sly smile, “I’m a museum curator… and I like to collect fake Renoirs.” We’ll both laugh softly, until I suddenly say, “Oh, here is where my ride ends!” As I step off, I’ll turn back and remind you, “It’s one stop after mine, then two blocks north. Good luck—and welcome to New York.”
As I exit the bus on my way to work, I would think to myself, “What would it be like to have a smoke?” Then I’d remember the writer on the bus, with his book and the plot.
My thoughts would be interrupted by a voice behind me: “Excuse me, may I walk with you?” It’s you, smiling as you say, “Here in NYC, we’re all a little lost.”
Posted 11/24/2024, 1:00 AM
All characters in Popmundo are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.
Prominent Clothes & Tattoos
S. isn't wearing anything that covers her private parts.
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Left arm
Lᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴇʀ﹐ ʙᴜᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪʟᴅ
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Right arm
ᴵ ᴰᵒ˒ ᴵ ᵁᶰᵈᵒ˒ ᴵ ᴿᵉᵈᵒ
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Left arm
[ғᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ] ᴍʏ ғʟᴇsʜ ɪs ʀɪᴠᴇɴ
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Left wrist
﹌
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Right arm
Tʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ɪɴ ᴍᴇ
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Right arm
ʀɪsɪɴɢ ɢɪʀʟ, ʀɪsɪɴɢ ﹠ ʀɪsɪɴɢ
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Left arm
ʜᴀʟғ ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇss | ʜᴀʟғ ʜᴇʟʟ
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Right wrist
wiтɔн
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Left neck
†
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Left hand
ǀ αм, ǀ αм, ǀ αм
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Right hand
<ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ﹐ ғʟʏ﹐ ғɪʀᴇ>
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Waist
ᴀʟʟ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴘs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟʟ
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Head
•
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Lower back
شعر
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Right foot
𝔇𝔲𝔪 𝔖𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔬 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔬
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Left foot
𝔰𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔢𝔡𝔬
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Left ankle
𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔞
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Chest
I want burnıng, burnıng
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Upper back
ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴs ʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴍᴇ
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Left shoulder
𓃠
Note: Tattoos might be covered by clothing.