mall!

The acrobat fan club in leopard print watches the knife man spin his blade. By the fountain sisters trade nervous assurances. He isn't looking at who is. He says, this place could use some real acrobats.

Let's buy up the season's tint of plush to line our sleep from now till spring.

Which way? I lost you in a distraction of darts. Here arrows' tips are for remembrance. Days are not the currency of weeks. Declivities are what poets fondle behind kiosks while the mechanics of geriatric kneebraces occupies a fleet of bandy engineers. The still spectre at the center is turning in its node, generating the flicker that animates so convincingly. [Does that mean it's bright?]

Satin Ricky Martin is riding a blind horse! singing about Puerto Rican bridesmaids. They chase. They do so gently. The damn shoe doesn't fit.