a stealthily thirsty shadow cruising steering aroung the edge of a curved promising land, drove into headcorner stop shop for price marked dime bags. she wanders about quavering fixtures of catered self induced dreams, the very same destructive features of a careless but yet paranoid shopping spree. two dimes of white dust shuffled then chased by two stuffed grassed nickled bags, equals a night secured by the fixing chasm of withered and bitter simplicity of the two-a-day accostumed drive-by.
not: it needs a lot of work. please feel free to submit your feedback.