Long walks with my temper take me down a dead end street in contemplation; where do we start at the end? Before i could collect myself, I`m vacuumed n by a figure`s armspread with fiery gasps of iron air, cornered in my circle of friends. Won`t he speak to you? Emptied on the floor were the shells of my defenses, placing his own bullets of condescendence. Those people shafted me of my social weaponry.
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