The root takes you, rakes in, and sets the mud into particulates of brick, beige, and stucco. A new mex slowly has the trio on a feverpitch H and the much ado over too much or muckle lucky trykes and tight waddlesome beeline missives-- the good kind, only only. It's a severed sea. Patrons back east chide and act about their little man syndromastadt; peach fuzz aftershaves to get down, but really just ugly lil' muggers, thieves, and pieholes with eyes squinting just so to shield from their own golden shower hours of power.
I am so far away from this. Dire it migt be, that mudland, but it'll remedy shortly. Meanwhile, we will eat, fund ourselves with shiny bits, take back rests, and see this endless leer of desert and ant lion in the and at the fullness of frontal-- yawning, glamming it up, and harvesting nails or nkondi dolls with an ever glance; loving each bite with a requisite severance.
Depictions as such.
(eyes used for tooth support)
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