That feeling when khuni hasina jobab de warps off the kalabhavan roof staring bcl down within a pound of meat treble picking up widows dissolving into a hung jury ershad brain drains knocking down the last stiff ones before. before. and there are. i must say. dominions built on moribund deltas and the nuclear family and the idea of the orient. his alma matter folds up the excess fabric of a tenure signing off detroit jute mills. and i cannot believe they still have not privatized the railways. that this survey does not count the kid with the tempu gear shift, sucking on a bottle a cap as part of the baby boom and all your guardians are hooked up, blood pressure cuff saggy, veins popped, bruised, ready. table fan charring 22 khusputtalikas. into men. into men. into men. into solitary. by complexion. by desire to be seen.

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