Never mind me being a bit Apsley Gerard, only for five minutes. Never really but if it suits. Their dysfunction, and falling about drunk. So be it.
It is her. Now I see. All of it. The whole fraud. The whole mad poetry in her mind. A lie.
So be
sobee
But making sure she can never sting. One has ones ways...
And
Bad 'poetry' warning.
But the thing is....
fingers cracked from scurvy
Means a minor disability.
And all poetry is hard work when his 'disability' must take all the oxygen. And keeps me up at night.
But as always it is the what 'not.
Thats she did not come back, despite my dozens of hors sweating for her in the glorious autumn of the glorious year and refusing her tainted lucre.
There was never any point. But when one is this fit, and she last night didn't mind "your super fit bod"
Just remember life has never been this utterly unknowably, better than ever before.
Which is always the only time, as Ove did not know, to 'fall' off your chair.
