Labello ChapstickBronwen Tate
House requires a general unpiling of my stuff. Waking up to it. The missionaries are so clean it’s scary. E allora. Everyone looks for something to fasten. An immense collection of locks clinging to a corner of Pontevecchio. I feel like I could sleep, as long as I stop the tap from dripping. He is shutting and duly locking the doors that matter. At a messy desk and with a nagging knowledge. The bathroom floor filthy. Disappointed when I have free time, I expect to do everything.
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