No, this is not the direction I had in mind for it. It's this bar. The band. They're too loud it's too open, I lost it. I'm the last cliche, I've yet to find my bar from The Iceman Cometh or Cheers—or how bout those bars that are strictly for players in the underworld, where an innocuous exchange between a patron and the bartender means that a series of big players have already nonchantly went out of their way to add another count ofConspiracy just byvouching for—ok, this is not going, I want to be vouched for...that's funny how in S.1 or 2 of the Wire, McNultty goes, "I can vouch for him, brother" to the FBI guy. Cause that's not his lingo, you know.?
ah, fuck it, the gist of it was i was going to to plead to the cars with my stickypad, like go back and forth taking ideas about what to do with my gestures—it was funny...it was....whatever, you wouldn't know funny if it was mullberry that landed on you with all the other other mulberries, well i got news foe you: it was a mullberry tree you wede under!
i made such a fuss about thanksgiving dinner, sabatoged myself again, eh whatever
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