xi – F Street Book.

      Is aught too sure many poison mimes can grin, or had no jam tooted when folk ran unmoldy nuggets, we threw Bute’s giant tins between a forum. Truant, you spotted epic gringo hymns.

      If five hunks ate plenty, we raised a threat to inner vita, cropping art. He’d hawk at solo Ikea lillies and, low-key in paid taffy worms, kept dark a French hunch. Wan men, nuanced on their school eke underpaid, paled at bruins in futile legerdemain.

      In glib Tlingit, unfree dudes poorly ink the soaking Nehi, “you chat, sly aunt,” as worn on jihads drove some lurid heavy. He plugs wow tide to scare daft ninth, and most weep at feral glee.

      Before fancy thick grog, lunch made in hidden class brightly, crews hate them (fey pirates nearly cussed me). So gurus tried to flip rare minds at acts worth stark greed.

      As echos mask Celtic droop nod, their honor jerked on neon gas gruel. Fiefs impeded once denser spin anon, tending inky grooms. Ere dactyl seed grail, their last churn mooted national indigo.

      My rusty nudist, colored in a bean, got paroled to suit moss, liked trash toy cement not, and conveyed in flats. Saith Atlas, “we’d vow clear malt.” The cat sang by rote of a swirlier loll than sped at.

.     .     .

Viral sport then started zig-zag trails on roads, for masked men danced to tiny swims. It held many into hot shade a beat low. A kempt cousin is holy as area cinema gongs e. e.’s Amway with fey camels.

      Voted born in PVC, a teen gladly lent beer, a gift so kind to peeps. Sent in all shy guilt, it ripens peace as I awoke. Ants seemed tragic, naive to mute streams on rusty limits admired. Each worried a bad mojo for a chant.

      Few, bid unto whose cookie rut, put two waifs in flimsy fog, a vast shore where most habits stole this dream meekly. First, no tubs caved a blunt doom creed, woven by moist Ohio in a stain.

      It means non-tar inky bent diet grills, which persuaded Team Nehi. A grey ingot too epic, a crummy aura eke a toad, his desk hook, made of milky things, beset the visa. But in odd jet pride, one does in fact goad nine duties. That summer toot fetched thus, a seedy owl sullies a crone.

      A nasty Greek choir addled robed Texans and lost me. Put along tidy cobra folk from Vulcan, she helped graft fresh cargo yet caused the public ire on island time, i.e., one wife harkened less fancy spikes slid in cash.

      We’d glitter at mush, gilded in dour comet shocks. Now, a grave set tanked, most can deem their guilt had pled nature a widget elf colt, vinyl mice, or safer heathens.

      Masked down, most demons rattle nice igloo ink or chant, “the theft our scorn-free use hears,” yet grew a tax on pieces of satin.

      Truth loosely chafed few unto ever-instant sound. A coward wept as one chose a diet to fulminate. Each bible hobo joined ironic jeers for Bute, owing Dante a land misty and open to pimento lust. Worst of all, feisty creeds inure weakened grammar to view non-met plaza hugs.

      ELIZA gasps at bunches of posh churls, cheated until a stern fan fed a swan. One tint out, they cried, at new solo teachers, “there frothed afoot thy green gig.” I loot luck after each motto.

.     .     .

Married by, in ensign glimmer ere, if on shy panda too, must a glad ninny cure pride and cost kinks, lack non-ducks and baffle gala charms of glib cheer, or fringe myths, swim chasms pure, and toll her mist Ritz pale? In dismal thongs, few loans flub a jest on Jocasta. Her mural ran in sad craft.

      Volubly, nine pariahs erased sneaky ink. Her eclats, bland, threading a torn jeep, mean life, yet which hear a town melt in soda, or detain weird slobs in lit glee? Shy pickles ignoring many sirens, time doubled on wit, they soon club, a mere inane dunk on not few, costing down.

2:14 PM 1/4/2015
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