Gank, Luck, Crazy animations circulating, misconjecture, aerating space in out among crab walking pedestrians, Primani zoot suit and tie that says “oh, i am commander”, combination lock stock coffee cup and new edition romulus cow-skin suitcase lined with the souls of innocent cardboard smashed and mushed big style to layers and layers and layers of thin, ineffective padding that upon touching you make that slight cringe due to the texture and think although this feels bad, it could always be something slimy, slithery or spongey you could be bathing in while mummy feather fucking top doctor romulus holding bold, blindfolds, swings and stuff, speaking through robots on angry ice, toungueing lizards and finger larks all set for sunrise and a quick escape for milkman’s entry on the morrow then remaining business follows: mr pot, the flowershop man, Man Ray, and Stravinsky singing hot things on tadpole chariots to screams of lusty serenades to crab walking pedestrians lost in devil grey towers and stilt eyes poised for watching what we once determined found in books, now “brought to you by…..”
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