Acting surrogate, a horror candle blaming brother cum laud for trusting his martini more than me. Lack masters didn't hear the words I spoke, a diver pilgrim and society decider they were when I last saw them in the outer limits. Running monkeys missing a game formation and team effort in states and higher mobility. The planners were delicately piled upon tables, sheets ironed neatly without creases. A surrogate for the acting plummeteer. Victim standing away, away to the hole walkers, salad feelings, the sights brought dignity lastly. Cubby holes, dark, in transgression from being poor. Cabinets were thrown out to be replaced by newer ones and posterior bleeding was within money control also. Bias opinions, loud mouths and dilettantes haunted the walls in stamina never lost without freedom to go upstairs for awhile. Relax to the stereo, heat of a dry summer playing up and down the sofa creeping monsters rarely disappeared. They could come and scare the hell out at any given second around the bend, funny face, monster face with hands that wanted to lynch everything available. Plateau barriers, steam rollers did not curtail activities. Irony plastered sheet rock and polished steel sheets in metal dressers, hot and one in its mold, the place it was to be in the backyard houseboat. Call over. Hear the response. Pony on the wild, smells coming from a back bedroom.

        Pony horses, inferior products to ride on.

        Fall down.

RIVER BED   117

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