Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Thousand: Four Hundred Forty-One

of the ranting face. “Nothing will satisfy her but a big fat apology from the deeeeeevvvi—“ at which point the leg whisks the head back to its duties as a foot. There was also a long and heavy rain. This came later. Or thousands of years before. It was difficult to date by the animals, clearly of a variety of species and, perhaps, epochs. Waves crash on a beach, washing over sexy people writing fully clothed in a libidinous passion. Near each other. A dog was sitting on a fur rug, watching him. Bernie blinks. Is that happening now?

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