by grimbeau

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Pretty strung out on a weird green quoit when a zither said: ‘get down here punk, gravity is not levity.’ Ignoring their megaphone shouts the ground hit me and I dragged myself through the thronging crowds of Alexandria, piss bleeding from my eyes, in an attempt to find out why the ship matches had disappeared from the soul kitchen. And guess what! As I approached the mews a spider strand silvered down from the window, and I, like an extra in an epic, tethered my one remaining toenail to it, trusting the last chance saloon, and got pulled up to an open bay window, where I got proffered attractive vino, which killed me off. The last thing I remember is Torquoise.


Damned if i know.