The dark features of King, stones of old vowels. For sure the ape in all reads papers lucklessly, to please King. Verbs stay for losers although semantics would be nice sometimes. King remains the idea, like quadrant. The effort to sincere blanches. King need not hear the news. Tasks seem worthless next to upcharge. Fluff entails magic, pleasing the rent moonbeam. We might as well let King. Constancy smells flaunt. King may blame ticking if language. Uptick is another, looking at basis. Breezy Caribbean monstrance soups up all non-agrarian feelers for fortune. Adorable megatons bring suits of coal, the average land of sundown. Draw from this reading ship King down, crag of vacuum. Or as we always say.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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