sitting back, letting the world be where its at, with mind open towards the sky, with the phone polls thinking off their fair, their electric current flows to a bulb that is calm, pulsing, its one of those evenings, crows, and different types of mosquitoes, cold enough for a scarf, reechhing screeching the tentative cat trying to make his next plan, escaping into the house where he may resume his limitless pleasantries, lifting up his spirits with the fireplace
the delightful conversation, of honor, their is so much duty in the things we do, duty delights in its own way, honesty has its own reward, we heard letterman say it to a louis that was frowning, and the characters represented themselves, an extension of their characters, and louis went on being a genius and lettermen went on being a *****
pleasantries are present when we least expect it, the fuzz from the monitor, there isn't much worry about how ***** the computer gets, it adds character, wisdom, se lavi or whatever it is the french say tossing hands up in the air and leaving it up to probability, or uncertainty, what a pleasant feeling
pleasantries in the dress, the particular white collared shirt with the pressed jacket, shoes that shine, in glances and martini glasses, in steps down the stairs that feel of anchores, anchores somewhere beneath those grand steps that provide some kind of magnificent gravitational gradiose spectacular, pleasantries in how much we aren't even aware