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Current mood:  dirty
the pedestrian molestor off his festering tits shares his dirty secrets with his mechanical clientele leering posthumously with a sinister curvature our new caretaker struggles to fight his feast, his famine we flee from the debris like thanksgiving turkeys with optimistic prospects of saviour from slaughter but capture is imminent no matter what dialogue is relayed between those whose convictions never waver
whore squanderer, playground wanderer randomly stalking his prey like an amateur i'll always be a nusiance to lacklustre zombies roaming around with egg on their faces my autobiography paced decidedly slow ends anticlimactically, nobody anchored by ghosts.
11:17 AM
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