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Many years ago, the breeze settled for a time being without logistical narrows to front end nostalgia frame misleading Portugal. If there was a tiny character meltdown within these walls, the magistrate was unwilling to negotiate the release of said visage. He doth appear without a smile, and through furrowed brow he boasts:

“Technically I’ve come to thee,

unwilling to recall

the smitten linens, bent in three

and buried ‘neath my shawl.

For endless fortune swills aside

the sparrow so devine

and sparks the quiver of thine hide

Until the stank-ass chutney lord sneaks back from that dumbass shit he’s always doing but I don’t know what in God’s name he’s thinking because he does that weird thing where he’s sort of winking but his eye stays closed for an awkward amount of time and then he turns away before I can really get a read on him, and it’s not enough to infuriate me; it just puts me off and I’m pretty sure it does the same to most people close to him and honestly it’s kind of a microcosm from really the way he is to everyone and I think I’d be happier if he just didn’t hang around as much.”

That was the day everything changed?


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