In the midst of looking through collectible novels at the book store today I came across a four leaf clover pressed between the pages of a book of poems from the 1890's. It is now resting in my new book about Richard The Lionheart of The Troubadours. Sunday's are nice.
It isn't fair to kick someone when they're already on the ground. Couldn't you have waited just a little while for me to recuperate before spitting in my face?
So the fact that I've slept through school for the second time this week is going to be ignored for a short while, or until I can explain/ fully comprehend what just happened to my brain
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