Cracking in the new tracking chip

Spiralling

Passport with a fake leather feel, stiff on the inside bone. Rigid form fitting layers on layers with paranoia in mind. High point of execution for the permission to leave and enter countries. Too fresh yet to press the flesh, brand spanking with a roll off the fresh press.

Mean looking fill in flushing beige on off white backing. Nothing but face on a disappearing neck. All eyes on you from below the depths of the equator.

Heading that way toward the home of fried chicken in eleven herbs and spices.

Soon Van - Tuesday, 27 February 2007 - 22:11

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