One time I killed this person in the road with a pencil or pen — but it was a dream — and my brother (not just a person), so things escalated real quick-like, while I wake up in a pool of sweat, only to flip the pillow, juicing out absorbed moisture upon my forearm, fading into a crystal skull skyline of dreams fragmented and blurred like a carrot dangling to move this fucking horse. “Cars don’t have horses.” This car has 500 horses inside it. Get “EROTIC.” Adjust. Apply pressure at a pace your comfortable with. Swing by and pick up orthodontrix for the tunes. Got a light?
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