Created on May 11, 1997.
She flexed her pink, prehensile toes while smoking a mackarello I couldn't help feeling that he watched me. ...That he watched us. That's what really hurt. His glare coming from, rooted by a amalgam of gambling debts and fish stories, snapping awake in gulps of time and swallowing the fresh salty sea breeze while knocking. Could he can them and have them sold by 11:03 PST? He could only analeyes the data and pray with arms outstretched like a mail-order mummy.
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