Could This Be Love (Section 8)

I don’t know, I could have lept off the roof then and ended my chances all together there then. Broke my ankle or sunthing real extraordinary. A ruined man running shows slimmer chances by the day. His rate drops and soon the ratmen dingosnaps snapper his hide.

The lost opportunity to forbothin with Natalie really pressed my hide and I felt the snare in my nerves sinning up my sciatic need.

I considered taking Pit right there wherever I found him next hour and religating his ass something sweet but the thought turned sour for an unassumed reason.

Creaser Joe, I wanted to talk to Creaser Joe.

Or maybe Andyroo again.

I loaved them something aweful.

The clock struck one on me. I loaved again.

The typical situation, I now crept quiet in, where tears welled up in my eyelids and I overflowed with soft hungry sobbing, overtook my current endeavor of loner masturbation.

No longer, the connection, restored now, Andyroo spoke soft nothings in my radio head.

“Dork. Don’t be a floor donor.”

“Andrew, how can this be?”

“Quiet. No explanations now. Just accept it and deal.”

Convinced of the confusion we’d spread as counter contraband or whatever they wanted to call it, we didn’t care anymore, for rules or standards or agreed upon terms of unification that all could banner under. We didn’t even care for peace anymore, we just wanted to clean up the mess they’d put us in and insisted we sift through.

An end to dare I say it…

An end to double dare ya…

Hee hee hee hee…

I now attributed the return of love and tears and abashed crying to the virus we’d concocted and the time chamer we’d managed to send through to pre gray matter periods.

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