The gallery of broken leaders blows adagio whistles into the sheer of her—hold up...
Don't insult my ignorance, she goes clear on them. Chapter four is about how Monk's shoulders crowd around his heart as a phobia I grow up on, of stillness
Assorted drunks and a singer
Cartwheel nebula slam dunk scream uncle kinda wordlessness fearless, cold enough, subtle enough, just enough, us enough for the city to comprehend the question
Will you give up your death for me?
Am I to believe... you're suggesting.. he is the first fictional nigger to control his own destiny, the reporter asked, the invocation was to present a talented free Negro, partly responsible for his own disintegration?
Yes, as I say, No secrets in Mississippi, no secrets in L.A.
Where I'm from. The break is a destiny of being in there
