If you have an intuition that the holes in the map were burned by low-tar cigarettes, it might ignite suspicion in the alter-vasse compunity. It may be possible to cover for this, and for that a small packet could be made available.
The ease with which you move your family into a temporary shelter out by the rocks depends, as almost everything does these days, on the closeness you feel to our members' appetite for holding an inner breakage aloft, a peculiar notion for sure, but, if the little ones can acclimatize to a sporadic eruption of red wires, the crew at Stone can make a home like few others; trauma is 'the new wing'.
If, in the junction box, the single blue wire approximates a snake window, you'll have the right to a full military funeral, should it come to that. The line which was constructed exactly one year ago today (as I write this) at Brigantine Beach, now all but erased, in fact initiated a virtual 'pan-static era' and the brand we fought for (as Blid has it) is just fog in the blimp of God. Someone will pay.
There is a type of vapor, easily available at any major airport, which will ease a lozenge into a near-perfect approximation of a pebble made of human skin. If someone you once encountered at a not very well attended community event is seen drifting through life, undisturbed, even while undeterred, you'll know you've hit pay dirt. The grace will come and go like the cheap success coveted by the recently warned. The truth of the matter is there for all to see. But, see it they won't and see it they can't. A 'made in Holland' sticker makes no difference. Please eat a sandwich.
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