Remember the zombie nights? The thread and spool and fun in the hot sun under great blankets of sand covering till quilted quintet of thoughts shrouds mind face sand gravel sand portrait of a piece of sand of a grain of sand--

wicked thoughts with manic cackle forward pouring shout through the haunted bank, little dog introduced to new household, we live with these beasts, we live as these beasts, we live as.

Journey and jackle, jester and jipper! Joy, joy, joy!

Slight sort of, lots of goldenrods here, no wait that's pavement.

No wait, that's pavement.

(Did you see the guy ride past Viola's on a bike when you were in that car and did you see him start to swerve and then of course fall down literally no support no hands or limbs out to save fall? Well of course you just kept on driving past Violas.)

"What a hastle."

Guilt is the speed of the wind, even the times you close your eyes.