Can’s, mom, five pieces of gum, one guy he last saw... “Welp.” in the direction as if the sheer obvious emptiness of the metal container was enough to make his low utterance hearable to that scene back on the corner. When he opened his gum it was, the pieces, only wrapped in hats. Guy screamed about his hat. “Abott hat! ABOTT HAT! An extending, open reserviour, front back Abott Hat!” Straight out the restaraunt. Booked. Black Lord goes, “like pockets? Real ship shine.” Could have made the construction vehicles out of 50 chained in big cages Yorkshire Terriers. Those construction vehicles beating yellow by the what not of the water park. If that ever got torn down, of course every citizen of that scratched out town would rage. Center of town? Big Block Centre. No one not there for real, but this scratched out tag tag pronounced town had a harbor, where many other people would all flow in in any steady stream. One brick from that waterpark, farthest it ever got was down at the cafe. Lickety split, all this talk of liberty, getting a dog (talk, they’ll listen) the Black Lord “Yeah I guess I’ll continue to uncapitalize dog names...” Put a dot after every dot. Liberty identifies the color of the water at Big Block Centre, then they’re like the one, cap, close to a pronouncing name. Splat. Dumbest rubber used in the rafts of it. Well grades to use, sonic enhancer, graded really nice, you’d here one more “Splat!” in the time it took to think through that tangent. If a sling shot could be found he’d rather do something, pursed their lips, to warn everyone of those heights. Hell we all volley and labor together, pick up liberty, put that doggy on the top of the table, slingshot be damned; heh, no. He’d capitalize their name. The Black Lord kicked over five cans. The last one, wadd in his mouth, chewing even the last pice of his gum.
Beepers next to the police stacked headquarters. It was a real good place to stand if you carried a beeper. It was located right next to the Black Lord’s filing cabinet abode. It executed commands because swaying from moral perch to moral perch there in that loveable well housed town. The beeper, it participants- quite and of particible; -unknown: Towered beers, yeah they had a smirk. The beeper triangulated off many other beeps, beep beep, all beeping themselves. And every one with their honey they scratched off of being unhospitable to bees (“honey off the materials!”) would sometimes be yelled. Without really checking, they covered their story house’s with lottery tickets. Scratch offs. Scratch off, every damn bar couldn’t, log and phantamosgasmas; some would dip into their foam and smear it around, but nobody could do less than tower and block any skin under their eyes, by their beers. And no one had the outlook they wanted when the judge who sent the flowers, real paramount, the flowers you received in life, of his last will and testament. To this kind of lawless, though still pristinely civic, but certainly rebel and blooming, scratched out name of a town. It was of the last presiding judge’s last will and testament. Now the thing, no one worth any gauge to having wisdom could tell for sure who or how many or what singular ameoba was presiding over the post of their municipal judge.
Gaping and sinister, The Black Lord had a court case coming up that was so unfair. What he hated, had to be the only thing, all eclipse, total focus, with tool, item, with target as inanimated and levied at, that to “his court case” there were exactly three relevant phantasmosgasmic and drudgingly (because though towers of beers, right on parking, beep beep beep, these men...) There was something of some singualrity with a deep enamel of duplication. A flight? Bee’s helping, who knows honey, had he won? Living here in this town, the Black Lord. These relevant, but should direly just not be, he knew depths, his hooded gnarled and leather hisser. Stretched face. Would stretch his chin like a radiator. Who could not be, for it was criminal their relevancy in any moral and truth, and of the three, one he could not even point postulately in any form or persuasion. Ratatat, construction seemed to move like when people would start running there. Oh in this baskable locale?
Of the other two, they were both uniform in they wanted to tell him of, the wine, but also the wine stains, of what happened, what so and enamating, strobing sure to, what of the partying in all the capitals and amongst the courts. He just wanted his cabbinette, smile drift vertical his entire dome, bubbly, with the bubbles of it, tuck cruise, him. And those two, relevant monsters, unscalable and aghast, and abhorific, vicious and pulsing astrayment, in a disregard to the drinkers and winners, their lack of relevance... Well they were uniform in their gab, desire, one was the pallet and dress pairings of perfectly normal, while totally adrift, that would make them, haze and they had never talked to his face. Never an address. Those that would peer like that... Oh a punch on the nose? Smog not loveable clouds, even the thunder and lightning, he was widely a deserver of this enlightened immunity, but the beeps, a fist for the people? He’d never been down to those depths. Thinking of his loveable beverage, while smoothing the smooth of his face.
And that last, the other wanted their whole bobble of notification and informing to them, to be, and so and sure such, but this person from a distance too, they had also never exchange them to and the Black Lord. Though them, with some inexhaustible prime that they had a belly, a black marbled boiling water pan. Just pure sea water. Whole town on movie early closing Sundays, “salt and water.” Of course they all had favorites. Boilning, Tub. of Sea Monster. Must be an angry “hang monkeys? well people and waves just in their most central positioning, just connect, The Tub.
