Dear Jim,Matthew Langley
Eat a potato damned American. When I go to the beach I touch the sand. I taste spicy crabs. & I can hear the red bus meticulously labeled “desiRED.” Just, it’s true. How much lives? The rain comes then stops. It is the martyr’s heart yields the most blood, is merry with a love-scene, of so dim reward an ugly wife better than an empty house.
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