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Arguing in Public Any plastic flower's lame reach to heaven is any Dos Equis' knowledge of terror, so you go a few rounds of proving emphatically nothing, grow up prickly and worn before you've gotten a chance to rotten each other the long way. Couples of this taqueria, I could use you being happier if you wouldn't mind it, because the heater emits only flowers of heat, and the birds caught in the air ducts are shrieking like his best afternoon of locking me out and calling the police, & the police laughing. May you never again call each other jerkass in a car on a Saturday morning, while your love and hate deprivatize. May your foolhearted means of courting what is over be over now. Structureless as you are, try thanking your respective bellies for being potlike, the winter's weird fingers for a fury more gracile than all your years alone.