moss shading the red brick wall of an old army camp green, not the ill-fitting uniforms… glad that you left.
Tropical diseases itch the East of my skin, stupid Bermudas, slippers and topless grins. You want to look tanned next to a golden hair, read nothing about sunshine and anus to explain the colour.
… opposite end of the digestive tract…
We shall not send ourselves there. We must re-educate the weather here - rehabilitate the climate… up North.
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