On Acacia Munn

If my sister was a tree, then this woman was the wild wind in her branches.

How she soared. Like an oil-slick Camaro down an empty, lamp-lit highway, all contenders eating her exhaust fumes. She had cool factor in spades, from her black eyeliner to her skinny jeans to her mouthy attitude. You might tell her how to live, but she wouldn’t listen. She had her own way to go.

A woman like that, raising a couple of kids… I know someday, she and her family will be hell on wheels, burning rubber on their way to global domination along the world’s fastest racetrack.

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