of those hot sticky that you are unable to sleep much, like tonight.
and I think once a day, and you wonder once again: "Who made me do?"
would be a great thing, in seven hours, go in there with a 45 and hey presto, best in the Midwest, it ends immediately canalecinque on the parodi. Then you change lives, and the types to spend a year or so some will still be more sympathetic to the dead of hunger ...
Why?
Who can tell? then why should one?
must hasten to force in a sentence that is born every day wear and tear of mind, decimetres of iron filings that are piled on the floor of the years, and we all would like to sweep away with the iron once, at least once in your life . At least I would like. Maybe instead
sleep comes.
Better: pawing the super-ego from the bottom.
Elude the trap night erection, takes a different route and attack: "You ..."
Cutlery (It seems) Bohemian wedding gift from Aunt Rosalie. Eleven pieces by the knife nail clippers.
The super-ego chooses the latter course, and want to fourteen hours and a roll of tape to finish the job.
Tomorrow is another day. Good night.
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