Two long trailer trucks parked by the entrance to the construction excavation project to the right. Why, I wonders. Why? Skuldiggery a feet on the Clydes of Mars?
Anyway, I took out the trash. Took out the trash. Had to take it out, I had. But, only after I remembered to, while going to pick up some packages.
These pictures taken on the first trek.
Elevator lobby. Not elevator lobe he.
I went to minus one to take a photo of our car. Lemon brand is a franche brand. But eyes doubt if it’s made by verified franche hommes.
Me likes the colors.
On carrying, I walked up to the ground floor.
I took this foto hopping to convoy the dreadful dullness of a dingy dungy day like dis daze.
To torture someone, I’d make them stare at this real image for hours.
I finally aggrieved at the little shop to parcel up the picks.
If closely you looks, you’ll see the two vee he culles have been ticketed on their left side windows.
It was walking along here that I decided to channel James Joyce’s Finnegal Wakes with its punny use of lang gauge.
Walking back, I thought of how I witched that real Cannibals would come to Canasta and make Chilli Con Carney. I also how about a MPSan from Can where the host complained that the gobulists aka goblins want to put all the citizens in densely packed towers like the one I’m living in now.
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