Creeping up on the forehead, scowls and deep concern. Concern unfounded and without even the slightest of strengths. Nothing of any serious nature, nor of anything above the pits of mediocrity, reasoning its change upon the face.
Furrows between the space between the eyes and just above. Working out the muscles, beholden onto non-existent thoughts of worry and fixed attentiveness.
Continually pulling back from the 21 inches of radiation, the realisation of the act reset itself within minutes of the revelation. Nothing certain of a clear dictate.
Unknowing uncertainty unconsciously straining the face to a Klingon brow.
Brow beating a style into a hint of evil pause.
Soon Van - Saturday, July 2, 2005 - 12:49
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