Nightingale, sing us a song... Just got in from a spell in the garden, looking at leafhoppers in the gloaming. Earlier today I was walking into town and I remembered the one time I ever smoked alone. It must have been February, middle of the night and blustery snowing cold whipped this way and that by the wind. I had a sorry butt of a cigar
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I used to want to write stuff for a living when I was littler, but somehow that fell by the wayside. I can get my drivel fix plenty fine here on the el'jay.
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Long evenings are some of my favorite things about summer.
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