Where could your lives be? I don't know, but I don't want to know.
John Green could be an apocalyptic horseman.
Single woman rode the train. A winter sixteen years ago tried cold tree tips. Three, in a row, overcast early evenings came.
Raking the apartment building hallway, she, Dreama, clangled, bespoke Jacob Marley, yet no one heard of Christmas, ya believe?
Young Belt corrected the course, but a traincar full of citizenship fooled the stunt.
Broken tea
Slip of bag
Lolli gag on warm brie
Sweatily collected arm rag.
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