Spent from last nights love making, I
roll over to see your clock. I must be gone by
morning, for I fear your father's rifle. Must
leave by five or six. Flashing numbers show me
three-thirty three. Plenty of time to rest.
Damn noise. Trashmen doing their job.
Reminds me of the lark.
Trashmen?
Lark?
Holy Shit!

04/08/2003

Posted on 04/08/2003
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