Crunching through the trees, Holding, waiting. Holding his breath. Even rows of gnarled wood stretch like crooked teeth in the distance And, finally, with great pleasure, he dies. The estate sale was a fucking gong […]
Crunching through the trees, Holding, waiting. Holding his breath. Even rows of gnarled wood stretch like crooked teeth in the distance And, finally, with great pleasure, he dies. The estate sale was a fucking gong […]
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