Senator by Zeke Greenwald

I walk to bathroom like to Roman senate: shoulder-hung bath-towel toga-pendent. However bearded myself I suppose unlike Greek philosophers I bathe alone. And like whenever drip by drip a cold the hived compartment of your lungs controls with a concrete and swimmy occupation, and their walls have ruin in vibration, cough; and cough wrenches up the stony-melt and the rocks scratch up their conveyor belt; … Continue reading Senator by Zeke Greenwald