Was at the liquor store earlier picking up a bottle of scotch (purely for medicinal purposes), and there was this young woman in a scoop neck blouse with a small decorative hourglass tattoo on the cleavage-facing side of her upper-left breast, and I considered the flow of Time and how the sands shift forever underneath us and how that’s poetic and shit, and then it hit like a wamprat bullseyed by a T-16.
Ergo that time, even presented thus, still waits for no man.
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