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Honey, I know this is us.

Fig.Once) Rome in a day

Paper's lost it's crease, cheap pearls and diamond false from teeth. To go, to collapse beneath it's own free weight, to crumple like a bird. Let's call the home desk, we've got a quitter he's sitting right here. The windows so bright as day goes by. Low as the lonely mouth of Satan goes, it's just not the same. Nearly even, parts in the even sky. Deep in the red stream, get me some gothic script for mah generous daddy belly, that's human life to you. We're Not the strongest breeze, the windows not so tall, let's try the door. The bell is broke and stoop is hopeless. Women march alone.
"Counting court," she says.
"Let's never once," she knows why, "never ever be stopped along the road and meet a king."
"This can be the way that vanity works." she leans back.
"This is the thing about them kings. Kings are never more, I in the wine," she leans back again, wishing the garbage blue. "Can any one of us, you or me ever engage in false narrative, the narrative of fiction, of fantasy or guile per say to make this belief? The odd outism, as it's dressed to heaps in gaud and willing flair to dance with anybody.
"Mindless idealism, as sultry as it gets," she says.
"I'd like to say that the crowd is young, they're all converts," Her wide open smile that suggests satisfaction.
"They wouldn't agree," this from the weight of her report.
"They're wet so how would they know," wet and horny she thinks. Like tricksters, they're college aged and poorly dressed.
"Spy me?"


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