wasn't a good plan. To run. What would meet me at the other end? A smug place to grow with the spider plants in the windows in macrame planters. Dirt needs no replacing. Mini water misters soak me into the mud.

 

        Melodrama built into firebreathers as oxen slave drive a flute in rows, neat. Capital gained five-over.

 

        Places not to catch the sorrow overflows. Pursuiter in personal desires set out to be more than a one-time user in the totalogue market of brown bags, lunches missing, strong flavors weep from the contents. Onions fried in butter sauce give heartburn to the faces who won't admit it is true.

 

        Clasps reclose to make tomorrow easier. The cheapened. Seas purified into lakes of health baths, architecture perceived by the masters. A deck to bathe in the sun to burn faces red. Actors pretend to have a good time. Sweet tastes are the seas to a tamed spectator. Mutant guards. Making rounds to send a cocktail to the steward as a way of thanks to remember me by next time.

 

        Courses talked about player's fields. Wind currents got them down to the bottom, done before, a drill to relocate the problems of emergency. Air bubbles suddenly show up and down. Stop completely. A pre-drill, failed. They make plans to try again soon. I heard someone mumble how it gives value to life like a godsend.

RIVER BED   65

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