2004-03-28 @ 5:34 p.m.
Apparations of transparent transcendance overcame what he thought to have thought through, and he was invisible.
A haze of foot-played displays of affection lie foot-printed and crushed on the tiled hallways.
Embraced in his long fingers, some digits of digital means, was a ticket, Prom Night Entrance for sixty.
He fell through the loosely held beams of light and down to the dimmed bottom; so low.
Oooh, he's dumped.
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)