Quotidian Observations.

 

We are content to sit and watch pairs of faintly Teutonic mademoiselles skip gaily by our station. It is not for us to make hasty judgments. Our moderation is only one of our protective layers. The future for which our breaths are held is approaching at a rate not to be exceeded by the vanishment of embarrassing flashes. The skirt of one of the taller ones catches on a thorny bush and all comers are relieved when order is unveiled in the midst of a nightly singing conflagration. This scarcely counts toward replacing our regimented tightwads with burly cone-sitters anytime soon. By the time some of your wearier colleagues are told the truth, all who value a candid exposure will be released to scrounge beyond self-imposed limits on tertiary language concerns. Where exactly does this fit in with an all-encompassing element? Would anyone go so far as to say that they tried it one too many times? They wouldn't have if some persons had indicated otherwise. Don't say that.

We will place each of the boxes in its own sacred circular mush-bath. The penalty for a non-compensatory religious oath is to be foiled in an attempted transition to modern scruples. It will be for the remaining ones to decide to express their deepest misgivings in a sharing community of likeminded nitwits. All the time we see them and wonder if they could be paid to escape a continuity procedure at our Nation's Airport. It  won't get any easier to 'go the distance' without first having checked to see if we still had a ride. A foothold in/on a bash is all we ever asked. Our plea to the President of the Carpenter's Union (Local 987) has gone unheard and now we are forever stuck with our eyes on a Premium Forecast with nothing to show for it whatsoever. Sometimes on days like this, it's not uncommon for your typical rando to loan someone a ballpoint pen, if only for a minute or so. No one should apologize for not being in a bit of a hurry. Them's the breaks! 

_______________________________