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Scorecard
Rambled into mistaken racing
we’re not having birthday blues, rough scratched displays no more who shows up the occasional menu, so basically pull pieces to the pit. Laundered feed drones distribute rebuttal to dismay, what would you do? Now it’s cold in the living room. Staging the surreptitious encounter fells no normal lash surprise with no idea. Food and drink for poets and spies, cash lease men, trundled feet under a solid tapped out switch. You have plans, a clever spoof vis a vis big things. More control more headroom. Keep the pit bull occupied? I’m the cap who pushes the caps until you hear them click, starting markers out. Create a diversion. Next as in nowhere, stay clear. |  |
