They sell all kinds of spices where she's from. Humiliated. Embarrassment polymerizes a sludgy squid body of mine, thrashing in a salt water soaked, choked, electric chair. I haven't ever resorted to paving a silk idea with shark printed carpet since the ancients.
A tombstone fridge.
I knew it was that gypsy on your shoulder talking on the telephone. Gun street girl, riding rusty in a cyclone. Cologne scented gherkins, flirting, while her man is slurping jerky.
I'm a turtle who lives in the desert because he hates the English language.