blather
old_ten
past sir john looks passively out at me, is he drunk again, or does he not give a shit? it must be hard to faze a political drunkard. the purple seeps into his skin, and i know he's pickled, to be sure.

but i doubt his mind is so placid. it's waiting to strike, at the liberals, at the métis. on the flip side the osprey reaches out for its prey, never stopping.

somehow, i think, i've been given something worth so much more (and, at the same time as i don't want to spend it, so much less) than a new_ten, with its peacekeepers and poems.
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