No need to be cooping it home. Got the stoop as my throne. Brick and concrete stricken on me, with a raunchy ho swollen. No Rome throne golden. Only beige with a mix of grey that's the closest, much of my motion's.
Twa, twa, twa, twenty degrees outside, but toasty. Twenty degrees outside. But toasty in the tunnel. Another day, another dime. Another way to kill some time.