So if this is a real lounge with a jailer, I'm drinking glaucocma water,

[Cats Against Frist]

sitting on a red forget-me-not, staring at everyone's choice of root vegetable (unheard of) in gnostic horror, dreaming up a prime mover, while my catatonic guy's light and Highland child sleep or make glaciers -- and I'm thinking that the house is a little bell, or it could be half-reminder, or it might not be ethical hell, and I need biflavanoids, another door possible, or some other umbrella group to fuck me, face up, in the parking lot: tell me losing numbers for tomorrow's buffet. I will say: I thought maybe you would never come out from under that underwriting and he will say: I tie my knot around you, you knot-shaped thing and I will say: if you have already made your payment, thank you