I am watching the pretty-color sky and the dragon
hatches out of it, a new century masterpiece. It is a
diagonal dragon and it arrives truly with a red sell-out
scheme of featherpills for whom I am uncertain. But
it knows Zero and lands on this nearby mountain to
burn more snowmen who snout for him. I don’t like
Mount Dragonsnort but a quick vacation is a nice idea.
Martini-Man gives me a bright red camera to hold onto
in verity. Verity, verity, I say unto you, this new birth
to the sky is no less than gospel and is the great new
language until none other is pinkish and low-spoken.
Go dragon! I say [nothing] here. Us new babies are
less diagonal, though, and is a little tired from sending
FedExes all day long. We bury our big green bruises.
