And the bells say its true with the chimneys all working in chorus
and charming the snakes right out of their smoky stomachs in the hope that the
end of the day might come back as a struggling poor man with living sauce
keeping up the chill. You’re ready to dawn with tyrant’s manna, ready to arise
with balked-at bumbling bed of foremen. Such wandering costs body heat and
yellow puppies straight from the landlord’s able mount. Come away from the
table, dear child, the innocence of good news doctors will tear all circuses
apart. There, there. Pick up the daughters for the innkeepers that should
really have known better about claws and virtuosity.
Sacks are needed on your way out of the back of street trade. You can just pick
them out from the dark crescent that is Fugitive Spot. God is a witness to all
the curmudgeonly goings-on and stutters to see such paths gone wonky and
flaming with explosive booze. These here are multitudes and not even the Big
One can fill them up with order and light. SENTIMENTAL SENTINEL. Can we really
know places in the skies let alone feed them to chaps with large shoes and
tight sandals? Don’t be such a diphthong.
Pay the price and updating windows shan’t be anywhere near as chaotic as the
magicians insist. Silence is the only sure thing that comes steadily from the
overgrowth between their warped ears. Cauliflowers, the lot of them yet they
remain beyond rubies in terms of price. Haggling included. Have we done what is
best to exclude them? To exclude them very well indeed? Does it do us credit?
GREEN WITH GREEN. If I could be anything, I would be years ago in a fallout
shelter…yes, I would crush all the real ones with pricing wars…
Where is the secret panel? Dollars
for donuts. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be upstairs getting on with work or, as
the charmers call it, LETTER OPENING. This service is strictly routine and can
be at times bothersome in its lubrication. Your father raised you in the Far West, creating partings and scalps in white women’s
braids. The worth of opinions takes a great many people to complicate and it
absolutely has to be done on paper. I love games and always have when its life
and death holding the master plan in a date and time or a kindred doctor. I’ve
got to find the waiter, he is a master of disguise, the greatest member of a
crossing guard guild if it truly ever existed.
All things
considered, every object has its secreted side. I lay claim to the past like a
speckled figure in answerable scarcity. It doesn’t make me wrong. She is out
there somewhere, losing her tether and graphic psychiatry is never on her side.
If she isn’t capably careful, she will lose her right to sail through the
topknot. Tell me the tomboy in her middle twenties. That suit is ten years old
and Jesuit by jeering.
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