8 PAGE 120
'I have a pattern now, you
slattern vow - I'm putting canned
applesauce on my eggs. Just like
they used to serve at Bickford's.
I'm a regular fool in pale houses and
bless their all-bleating hearts as I watch.
They are leaving their car at Sheridan Square,
getting out as if they'd been there for years.
Rucksacks on the roof and a playful little
mess within. 'It's Friday! And three days
ago we were at Fisherman's Wharf, yet
now we are here! And San Francisco is far
behind!' They get out like sharpshooters
set on finding their prey. I wished I was
along. I remember thinking that. Some
lambs are female. Some
angels have wings.'
'I have a pattern now, you
slattern vow - I'm putting canned
applesauce on my eggs. Just like
they used to serve at Bickford's.
I'm a regular fool in pale houses and
bless their all-bleating hearts as I watch.
They are leaving their car at Sheridan Square,
getting out as if they'd been there for years.
Rucksacks on the roof and a playful little
mess within. 'It's Friday! And three days
ago we were at Fisherman's Wharf, yet
now we are here! And San Francisco is far
behind!' They get out like sharpshooters
set on finding their prey. I wished I was
along. I remember thinking that. Some
lambs are female. Some
angels have wings.'
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