Yet,...this baby boomer surrenders since many an elapsed yesternight to inevitable (albeit gradual) cosmic fusion with universal spright notched calendrical anniversary, mine nondescript birth doth invite quiet acknowledgement between January twelfth and fourteenth 2019
lengthening shadows of twilight years ordain nothing more slight, than mine chronological meter, which will tabulate LX orbitz completed round the sun, a sight hardly worth promulgating, cuz I haint nothin but right smack dab in the average
range as applies to quite, a vast (perhaps a bajillion) fellow Earthlings, somewhat polite chap minding requisite p's and q's (i.e. prime quality), nonetheless being cordial, insight full, how all knowing Universal studios theatrical playwright
offers no exemption against facing rigor mortis plight, and if necessary shines blinding searchlight, hence the ultimate countdown deliverance into eternal night, or perchance afterlife might... awash with marshmallow
clouds plus tangerine skies, amidst kaleidoscopic flying kite inescapable, yet...I oft wonder if one can prepare being hermetically sealed airtight or if cremation chosen option retain even a minuscule slight speck, asper any conscious recall
kept alive by family and friends, who sorrowfully bite lower lip reminiscing close curtain calls ****** fight, sans that brawling night in Casablanca, or nearly (Al) most (Gore)d at bullfight.