So welcome to the edge of fantasy, where the skies are gold and the brains wet. My neck is stitched up with murder but well-weaved. Not a vampire but the wolf, man. Dude, dont wander far from the rotting beach. The servant’s son had already washed away. But he was stillborn, legally anyway.
Susie, I’m sorry. It’s not enough to say, but there’s nothing to do anymore. Certainly no Casanova. We sent them all away to the East.
Burritos make quite the passing fancy. So please, let me pass that way at some soon time. But truly, someone once a charmer was relegated to the rubbish heap, where donkeys shit and dogs vomit but never return.
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