suborned selfcreated aftermarket me. i got some good stuff yet. the bike-a-bee girl was riding and some evil autopilots grabbed her and she has to have surgery so i bought some more winter honey. on the butchered lawn of the midway i said they won't mow the grass like this in obamaland. and there will be no tall grass left for snakes or other sakes. isn't it amazing what becomes of the ordinary. as far as aesthetics go it's very variable and only one has to agree. the potential is always there for more. despite specious claims and unwieldy amounts of money, it's never an entirely foreverly done deal even with a free ninety-nine year lease. this place was the home of nature once, and people who lived accordingly.

the market was peaceful, a pocket of the ordinary that only feels strange due to the masked faces, which are strangely ordinary and which we don't want to lose, and due to everything not happening inside the caution taped area.