Hydroplaning Lane

Get thee Monday. City of god? No, heat island. We won't, make great pets, and the ruins, eh. It's no X100580. What is? Yo. Break my hands before I write the word knowing again. You know? Not a lot, but I can help you with that flat, to continue a false theme, badly written out; he means wrung. Fight it some. Fight it never. Which, are you? Ah, you smell like dried sweat. Do we just love it unbidden, or is it the sweater? It doesn't smell subterranean. I live in the deepest night because its the only time the air smells semi clean here anymore.