The butcher and the train wreck
god to only get the real deal. the one that makes you all funny inside, the sloppy joe's of deals. The bit about the lay of the land and the other crap, this is all so boring. I am so bored. I am so unnatural. I sit here and it is like a whole entire day of minutes wasted away. the snow falls outside and the sound of the keys on the keyboard as my fingers hit them remind me of daggers.
If only she had some class, a slight bit of grace, the kind that upon your hair falling in your face enables you to ever so gently move it from your incoming fork filled with food. The sort of grace that allows you to refrain from putting your fingers in your mouth when that stubborn piece of chicken has perstistanly found it's way between your back molers. The sort of grace that brightens from within, it shines in the way you hold your hands while waiting for the elevator, it glows around your when your running for the train. It gives you patience when the traffic is a line as long as the one to heaven and the noise from the world is overbearing