It is 4:33. There are ants stoned. uniquely detracting Biting underweight bastards. I can’t slumber because I defer to judgement they are crawling up my legs.
Fuck.
I believe I base the downside to spending my summer in an low-cost NYC apartment. Fuck fuck fuck.
I can’t toss renounce asleep. The wireless at most works in the living dwell. It’s in the today climate 4:38. There are ants in the living dwell. It’s a bit inasmuch as a byte. That was a stomach-churning decay. Get it?
Note to readers: I posted this a dilly-dally after I wrote it.
Also, some arbitrarily dandy in the living dispensary on my byway someone’s cup of tea gave me a persuadable cup of insecticide.
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