“Rolling Rock” it reads, fatefully so, so I’d hope he’s no Sisyphus.  Bringing corner markets drought with pocket money, he’s perhaps overlooked by the commoner a proletariat.  dating me in simply ways, peeing from the next room, my alone time, and indexing my forefinger: canine and biscupid, telling me to feel the ****** up’d-ness inside his skull.  I claim otherwise but I suppose within fingers lies fallacy!