Dark Blueaty

The young and attractive in Los Angeles. They sway with sweetness and receptivity. Their reward is predation. Those fiendish eyes who only see, Wet Cavity. Brains is filth and poison, and the ability to delineate anything of want from everything around, but one checkpoint achieved on their path towards self-employed pseudo-remonstrance. There is a cloud avast in the Dark Blueaty, bulbous protruding head outlined in the heavens, from lizard, to chicken, to dinosaur, Recollections of Europe, how a moment of delicate reflection and quietude seemed as some ancient history, the rendezvous, the orange evening like its wine, sour and sweet altogether. Nothing can be more alien than the adaptation to loneliness; Liberty; chaste. A blue BMW seems at Mach 10, just adjacent to the vines, one wrong flick of the wrist, half an ounce of incorrect pressure input, shrapnel and pressurized explosive concluding in a crumbling kitchen. 'Does the music ever end? Though the sonorous flows soothe, one can't eat lobster every day. I'm rather full. Yet I still elect on behalf of the presence, of presents. Further. Further-Forevermore.'