Well, what does that mean?

For whatever reason, my recent dreams have been saturated with spit curled suffragettes who lindy hop their way down city streets. The kind of women who gather as many admirers as the number of glass beads that are draped around their necks, keeping those sailors happy with their penetrating, bedroom eyes. Whether these girls are living in the damp underground of the subway station or are playing figure study on a spread polar bear rug, they encapsulate the feminine prowess that all precocious minded little girls dream of attaining as they toss sand in a red-cheeked Junior's face. Already getting ready for the later tarpaulin of makeup with a

smile from grape juice purple lips.