The tower yore continues...
Taggart fills the space with squares and lights; I perform my first ever violin. It's a rainy swept hasty, too; and of fortuitous timing, nothing the chime of warm faces cannot remedy. See, things are sacked and frowning, but find meaning in a good city namesake in this opposable thumb norde-end wester-side... so far from hymn! The home and comb of combine ideas: angstie and treasured embattlements of wits and build. A man could use a good lair of tongs and curries, masala styles, foots-in-the-doors, and happy greetings with strangers and new friends-- and here he finds! A tow of tears and fats and hams; brevity bearded by three-act parables, or one task with dollar store entries and a manual timer, amplified. Funny how the sound sutures with the visual, combining like eggs and heat to make the oyster yelp.
With that, I'll secede. And you should too!
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