men hate blondes: a memoir...

1.
Strange living through it because the attack of looking strange when an afternoon is attacked, a week later provokes silent inwards.

2.
I spoke for fear of speaking without the darkness being thoughtless towards broad daylight.

3.
Have you ever wondered about the irony timesavers resisting a light grey? For instance, when the lightest of greys bulges into another speaking form of madness it manages to obscure a table.

4.
A minute walking home late at night through the satellite factories,  to become the saint of hurting. Sacrifice, beneath a moment ago to trick the treat of trickery.

5.
To enjoy the sweet-hood of closed doors is to endure pain on a painful tooth towards a sample of menace. When the dark becomes scared it is time to go back to your fathers.

6.
I was not looking forward but instead subtracted the pigeons of anatomy, giant bunkers, gifts of sliding doors to make the sliding seem as if I was walking, to make the walking seem as if I was running. The panting of fearless walking creates fear to make you fearless.

7.
To walk home in the dark, to live wearily the whole place of effort. The surrounded trouble, man-made lenses of what it would be like to  have a wild wood and trees growing near by.

8.
The naive of blonding casts its resignation of combing. The blondness of silence is an emptiness of lusting accommodation for post. For posting a dark pushchair there is always still a chance.

9.
What you could consider archetype muggers or rapists coffee table given to him by rubbish collectors can make use of it. An old rag and rumbling contraptions estates towards the woods because they are not lit up very well.

10.
Murderers feel privileged to have come through the other side bypass the thought of butterflies. The rumbling perched on odd looks under passed luckily at night flare. If this was during the day he would be foreseeing an artist stubbed inside the raped while pushing pushchairs containing wooden coffee tables.

11.
It is clear thank god because it only takes a drunk to have a second thought on the bridged chances of good chance, to foresee the good chance of periodicals.

12.
Yes there is no doubt; it is a fairytale cursing the architect. After-all if opened, less confined with a jade less dark, less remoteness containing sulphur there would not be so many fields decaying. I could die because a coffee table rumbled it over a dark wood to the safety of society in the scent that was part of resurrection.


13.
Safe places and bomb shelter housing estates where few mutters who did that kind of thing than there were less maniacs to suppose that there were women who would actually do a thing like that. In this day and age so more than likely they would not be out waiting to attack me because the idea of some women in their late thirties pushing coffee tables in pushchairs, and in the most desolate place of the estate yet alone the country is unimaginable.


14.
Take a short cut about to cross the teetering grassy bit, blinded of telephones slightly struggling a table of wooden slat when all of a sudden the slutted bit stops the heart in beat and motion visualises blue boiler suits out of darkness.