Here we are inside this dance listening to Sting & The Police. The year is 1981. Strip away the shell from your egg carton eyes. Can't you see? The Astrology in her faulty footsteps tells everything. She makes compound words like second nature. When the tone grows low, the timbre solemn, the scent of gin and tonic grows obvious. We no longer have
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:: HI ::
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...and ditto on the rest of the comments... hmm...
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i wanna know what happened with the boy!
:: sighs ::
i'm either really a scary stalker...or just someone who's insanely bored on a sad sad friday in a cubicle in front of a computer with nothing to do but read LJ for amusement.
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Nice to meet you. welcome to my friend's list.... and I hope your cubicle days get better. :-)
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i got added too
and i mean nobody adds me :P
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