Imagine sweating it out at 22 years old (over at the barn). Mainly you could do a lot of hand stand push ups in there. Surly you'd swing the heavy door open at the click of a full moon. 17 hours spent on making your hair solid and heavy. Then it happends: it's dark out. Richard willo (the poor man next door) sees you outside. For a split second he stares at your neck; then he turns his attention back to laying on the grass and attempting to directly point his cain at Jupiter.
Review of Taylor Swift: 22
