this transcontinental fuckup brought in slugging flunk matching flurry of activity with noisome oblige. he smells of all the bad on cross county rapaciousness and a hell of a thing. we have something smaller now. the smell is very exact, like marginality. well. 166 years ago the confederate army heads away from intent and union becomes like books and enclave, all the way to market. that’s why we chat like this, portion control is for children. have a great rest of your day and let shoddiness never impede.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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