Inclination of direction, Walk the turned and twisted thrift With the children of creation Futuristic dreams we sift
Thomas lay on the bed naked, spread-eagled. Congealing blood and semen leaked from his torn orifice, forming a dirty pool on the saggy mattress.
I walk up to deliver the paper, normally I would have just thrown it to the door, but this asshole insist that I place it between the screen door and door. The screen door by the way has no screen
Day one.
