Dried umbrage, the kind you couldn't share, gave caring to all a splint and nearly took the jig up to new heights and looser stools. Temperament, as some prerequisite, found a hole in the seat, damnably obscure, but nevertheless, terry-clothed and chattering in a bicuspid whelp, the word, "emm" over and over. Flipping sides, a dare was made and he-who-split-the-geode-faster won something: a prize, a pit, a fruit roll-up, a yoga mat, or a sedge constructed from a process of yearly (and dotingly) stacking, which, from afar seemed like a regular Bronze Age conical structure of an earthen-type material, but upon closer inspection revealed a codex of manure and flaps, arranged side by each into a rotunda of ignored emails and daisy-chained sloth. A good day, the teeth held tight, longing for a release of acrimonious songs and lower molar aches prompted by a bile-like return of warm burps and caffeine to be once and for all over. Algae, by no other pseudonym or metaphor, was the lichen likened to glaring at the inane tots and coddlers, clasping their rich pearls, clutched by wee tarsals, but with little knowledge of what the use or value was of changing seats and what that could accomplish when on that particular bus.
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