Oh earnest protozoan, dreaming beneath the technology of all green history, Florida cannot afford not getting younger. No, no mention of a mass-energy equivalence under our umbrella policy. The table of distances is public domain, but aphasia’s still a bitch. Charades? Neckerchief with a print is. A complete sentence. Or demolition gone wrong. The real estate agent and riot cops act with precision; trigonometry will be strictly methodical and still yield none of the right angels. Transversal rave. Chinatown traffic. Basic guitar chord progression into carpal tunnel here. Carbon dating is a distant cousin of stalking animals. This riff is repeated until the water-damaged sousaphone comes in. And what’s this? A senile fisherman? Journeying the needle-eyed jetty at high tide? The mycorrhizal networks of death drive unfold in isolated pitch. Like ovulation, lawn care’s a regular burden that keeps us going in plain sight. The day is a warehouse so vast and hollow you forget you’re in a warehouse. A big ball of gas still burns but it doesn’t get involved. Your love for a stranger is just like anything, abundant and chemical. No one calls your name but the wind overhearing another wind. More than coincidence, patterns are a liberation from chaos, and each soldier makes his own peace with organization. Four four time. Cue the finger cymbals. Generic line.