Sebastopel

..Or in other words... Again it is the cool breeze that blows. Again it is the fifty dollar bill that would see me through a few days in rural China. Again it is the first night for summer dresses of the summer. The irony of ironies, as Faustian letter carriers emerge, but not to Indy but to Paris. The possibilities are endless, the hilarity superlative, the dancing... Oh, summertime. We stand between grand ceremonious building and cemetary, unfortunate high-rise and churches left beside the apartment. As the red cowboy boots and smoke tred by oblivious. As the directions are called for after she has walked by. Amidst this impossible to describe wind. In the heart of my city that I do love.

I must this TFI decide on an appropriate package for paris and its most hilarious destination. Operation the end. How apt, Faust might say. I say only thus, 'let thou glorious wind of randomness (beat) continue.'

Above all, tedium we must have not.