zebra stallion shattering vocal chord with one intellectual hoof, charged for falling in love, charged for being there, charged for not being there,
I, Joseph, am King of all I survey. The steam roils off the water and into the dry crisp air over the village, anointing my subjects like incense. I loll back, silver hair streaming from my temples. They always say that I look like Leonard Bernstein.
The night Jerry lost his mind, I saw myself on the local news. The prevailing emotion upon seeing myself was embarrassment, which is itself embarrassing. Like what should I care, at this point?
The Otter dares you to write this photo's poem or story.
Beynine yaklaşma fazla, düşersin aşağı Hiçbir suç bağışlamaz gövdeni o zaman; zamanla soğuk dolaplarda kaybolur en sevdiğin muhit ve giysi
“You’ve got a perfect spot here near the road,” I said. “I was tempted to turn around and head back for the highway, but I caught sight of your table with all these birdhouses, and I just had to stop.” I studied the intricately carved house in my hands. “They’re beautiful.”