Spend more time thinking about things that bear fruit ‘it’s still going isn’t it” ‘unprecedented times for impressionable minds’ the whiskey settled in the bottom & the espresso produced no steam the two were like leaves in autumn fallen, and ripping at the seams the Chantilly was no longer whipped it sank in lines like falling stars peculiar place to have reality stripped a left bank cafe among the bars they faced the same direction angled to watch the masses and against any sound suggestion they removed their rosey glasses imagine the days before were they just the same? are we all rotten to our core or is it just a bad name? they couldn’t be the only ones to have made the observation so many turn towards the sun when delivering an accusation but where are they now those who listened to their eyes and could they explain how they managed to survive the two were whiskey headed clanking spoons on glass noticing they were indebted to their time outside the mass
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