and saltwater may flow on Mars.
Okay, obviously.
Needless to say
we attempt to finish an entire day.
But everything is so minute-by-
minute. Are we up to
it? Are we
up-to-the-minute? We
make our
own edits and have a very nice
time. I did attempt
to type. The
train is pleasant and always behind.
Plus, I get back to the grind and
look it over. It’s a
winter
record, which is pretty
good. So it’s time,
I weigh in. We get
hardcore, wear red
stripes. I erase a
very large moment
from my hard drive
but I can’t even run
two miles solid. We
invest (brilliantly) in fruit
(apples) and serious cruising
(a combination of running and
walking). We’re
big-tub-of-
lard types, creeping everyone out
with our curiosity these days. Pretty
rare. I initially
chuckle, but stick to
myself, swearing I’m not intestinal.
I think this occasionally invigorates us;
or at least encourages interest. We’re
all over the radar.
We should just
concentrate on cranking out
gibberish for tomorrow.
