we went on an integration for the urban poor... It happens every Sunday. We were so shocked when the kids mobbed us like they're going to run out of food.
DRUNK. my head swirls three hundred and sixty degrees with thoughts of human interests. I inhale cubic centimeters of fiction and poetry. I vomit indigestible beings who call themselves members of the society. I dig Van Houten when I can while stuffing myself with Asian Horror. my fingers are unstoppable once they clutch the pen of my imagination.
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