Yes—I tell you it's true!—there's a crimson shift bedecking our outer hallway. I'm told that the goodness of it is plain for some to see. They come out regularly. Usually to visit the cousins. They're told to fix their hair and to try their hand at ice sculpture. Sometimes pictures are delivered even if they're not yet exposed to the sunlight. A problem makes itself felt, but as for myself, I look quickly to the right and left. The hair comes off with your remarkable gel. My wife feels enthusiasm arrive in waves. It gives her time to ponder her overall readiness. She'll try to take this one to the bank. I've pledged to stop her at all costs. This will put me in a good position to transform myself. Even as I sit in a coffee shop in Bakersfield, California, I can tell that the remnants expect something from our time in the service. Swerving just isn't 'my thing', in case you didn't know.
The non-dominant arm is sometimes used in place of a large-ish application. Our feeds include files of The Trio escaping with stolen cummerbunds while sporting insolent grins. I swear that the one named Gary used to come by here and appeal to my sister-in-law out of all proportion to the influence that she, in fact, wields. Also, with the hard packing, he could traverse the lawn with no risk of shoe soilage. I knew how he did it but I couldn't afford to admit my proximity to power. Some folks liked to take after me and I found it frustrating, but no longer suspicious. I've prayed every day for a solid year that this would come to pass and now I'm in the thick of it. Please tell me you don't know what love is.
There's a bargain set to expire in the coming weeks. If I can place some of my kids with an obscure agency, I'll look to dress this up like any other accident. Only I (and now you) will know the half of it. The half that's still to be determined is the one that scares the living shit out of me. This is probably the last place on Earth that anyone would place us if things come undone in a major way. All of our seasonal flecks are due for burial in a modern pit near a Hostess Revenge Tilt-a-Whirl. I've been given a seed in which to lodge my trust. Our eyes meet beneath a recently completed scaffolding. The thrust is quite obvious. There's no name worth this mess. But if one pretends to be 'chipper', then who can laugh when things go South? Not the one you think, is all I'm saying. Sit tight. My name is Jimmie Dugan. Does that help?
_____________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment