They breed in drains. A tinful of groundnuts. Fist in the honey pot. Can’t. Cultured, in a bad way. And bloom into quintillion coils. Theft at midnight, errors in the yard.
by Chris Littlewood on April 6, 2014April 6, 2014
Money, lawns. Against the least I swerve. I have weathered this strictness crying of past regrets so many!
by Chris Littlewood on April 4, 2013April 13, 2013
Bot check: What is the name of the farthest residential college from central campus?