today people were at the bank.
does anybody want to buy a piece of shit?
the bar inside the rocket is copper with epoxy resin.
none taken. i am a credit card, and i have reached my limit.
in the end, we're all lyric poets. or VISAs. i'll let you know.
at the end of the day, i die in my sleep, and wake disappointed--
not about being alive, but by having to leave.
SUCCESS! (formally WORD@peek) coming soon on narrowhouse
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