I'm in it. It's like the high desert, not grass to be found- the air is so dry it cracks your lips and makes you squint a lot. It's cold as fuck. But I can kinda feel the wind singing here, there's no trees to hold it back. On the mountain tops, I'm told, it'll fly around you like you're the last person on earth as you stare out at the hills.
I'm not looking for a miracle Choctaw Indian cure, but it sure would be appreciated.







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Computers are useless. They can only give you answers. - Picasso
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