Foil disappears from the lip of the bottle and with it the water takes to breaking out of the confines. Dangerously unwitting jostle unsets the contents to wrinkle and affect a pair of the new breed to stash. Starting another journey of second guessing isn't without at least the skimming the top of the other pit.
Take a step toward a long walk and listen out for a bit of the gibberish that flies forth from the foot of a few mouths. Clearly there isn't anything close, and swinging with both sides of the hand grenade looks more charming from the pin's perspective. Patch things up before the hems fray too much.
Every other word is thick and bold, like the floating chunks of pumpkin butter soup found under a mound of documents. Rich in taste, it's too overwhelming to make fine and straining the contents is as hard as eating paper raw and without at least some aid. Milk, juice, anything that washes down the roughage well. Operatic soap, perhaps. Convoluted beyond the very concept of an arms wide open issue, a head hits the mirror looking for the back of the head of that person staring back with perfect timing.
Minimal as the sand that seeps between the eyelids and the ears, the footsteps in the desert lay only as long as the wind choose not breathe its husk of wear. Rowdy, randy and a whole lot of rusty, the atmosphere starts choking back some more sand wondering where a glass of water is to be found. Meaty, the loner who walks with others finds that trouble marks an easy target from the group. Sense the apocalyptic and bargain for a lower price on the ammunition.
Friday, 5 January 2007 - 20:17
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