This is some Count of Monte Crisco level bullshit.
An apple pie you can feel all the way to your toes.
I’m going to regret this later, on the toilet at 3 AM but right now I’m in heaven.
The neon letter E gives one last precious gasp and flickers out.
OK. Make that Heav’n.
Touch everyone, but make eye contact with no one. Or vice versa.
I put on new socks today and my shoes squeak with every gummy step forward.
A murder chorus of mice beneath patent leather heels. Squeak squeak squeak.
Would I like to dance? No, I wouldn’t.
What’s my name? I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.
That’s a joke. Or is it. I don’t know. Did you laugh?