I stir the news, trying to mix the creamy fluff with all these dark brewings; an attempt to blend something closer to the truth than what I am drinking in. "Amnesty International,
My brother murdered a man. We wasted an afternoon over the telephone, and coffee, as I listened, and he talked. Being rubbed the wrong way is merely execution of sound,
No one wants to approach writing ,geared in some grease monkey’s backyard, like a jacked up Yugo thinking it’s a Benz. When I was a child I salvaged a word from the side of the road.
From airy complacent perspectives, monkeys appear like angels. But when more lowly based, they are simply blind, deaf, and dumb. From an apathetic view, roofs seem quaint