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.