Now I get fresh interference. Yesterday does not resemble the upcoming minute, which itself will not remember a cactus burning to death.
Limbering up his bamboo sticks of lies his voice becomes sharp, and rigid. A hungry, flaming hurt announces his impatience with strangers slipping urine into his diet, accusing no one but leaving little doubt whose identity is in question.
I let loose with a timid retort, naming a woman I permissively groped as my “next big mistake.” She smiled, slipping my hands further along her body as the other subway riders observed.
