Reading Ulysses in Montana #630
Diamonds of limbs and palfreys of bizarre socks bestowed another grim character to barter away the souls of too many unkempt promises. But Myrtle would have none of it.
A penny and a half penny more coined the term Myrtle and her brother perpetuated like the rules of wine tasting for the abuse of preposterous miscellanies and bacon. Penguins also being the name of a fruit bought Marvin a little time, a fact catching Myrtle off guard with the haste of incense and swords of good flights.
Sixteen pounds of Tuesdays led Marvin to pester Myrtle again about turning skills and reformations into strangles of offended bruises.
Finding me in another small room became a debt too far for Myrtle to play again, but Marvin took a chin of harmless earth and stored it against the everlasting future of endearing frontiers and enduring cosplay warriors.
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A “like” should have gradations of choice of expression, rather than only an assumed “love it” heart option. Mine today would be more of a type of acknowledging impatience – in that desperate haze of a type of frenzied “cannot wait” of hopeful, yet due to too-long prolonged, somewhat hysteria-driven anticipation.