yesterday to find its way to the furnace. Aurora Memorabilia, not
exactly bright, but loud enough to glue reflections to the inside of
eyelids. Borrow a cup of sugar and hit the sack, accurately, but with
little gusto at the helm there's hardly any pain at all. What a
chattering ninny the evening can be, cross for no discernable reason,
making my misery a life. And it would be nice to disobey, to defy, to
deny. It would be grand to laugh out loud if it didn't wake the
sleepers. It would be sweet to chill the air with breath alone. But
who's going to stand me a tenner while I figure this shit out? Who
can spare the cash in Limbo? And I wish you shared my colours
sometimes, just for understandings sake.