kinda hard to shepherd stray thoughts in a 9to5 with tapping from the next desk over, and land lines with no easy off switches or batteries to pull.
( A dreary late night "whodunit" mansion falls into place around you when with black gloves you pull the phoneline to it's death for a few moments peace...)
And it's a bad sign when to written words of your native tounge look foreign to you from lack of use.
(Dear Diaryland Management there's nothing Prohappy about the news)
With a gently fierce Shakabuko she will jetison her doubts and speak her mind, unload the bricks, and take my hand, for our long walk ahead.
11:40 a.m. - 2003-09-15