Watch the clock watching the soft pop of drink drizzle a hole into the back of the throat. Twenty-three flavours with a distinct bite what holds back the masses and lets only in the few who cherish its ardently sharp taste.
Hours of the day subdivide and fall into patterns where the ounce and stock are walking wounds from concrete sleepers on the tracks. Too long to run, too heavy to hold. Choice suckling of days breaks a standard agreement on the matter of timely issues and finding the pause to the day. And so, instead of the rush and flurry, commence now the slow tipping back.
From one to all remaining and it's a clearing house of carbonation down the gullet. Holding nothing back, leaving nothing in the racks.
No more Dr Peppers in the house.
Friday, 6 April 2007
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Elemunk scrambles the loose connections bouncing about the mind of Soon Van.
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