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paste!
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can't complain about the sculpted foam storm. and in these grave tunnels, when it gets to be about the surface and no longer the depth, they all fall tumble side up up into the birthmark equation. how many times do you have to see the gas tank in your face before you recognize that the shape of an equidistant grasp is not perforated? dot dot wing apology. the sand is my raisin. the porch is where i slay the pomegranate of misfortune parenthetical. rebated fries. biggie fries never made a man twilight happy.
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