The Palace of Varieties

There's no spy in there, just sit down, the spy had long red hair, and her pipe was garden thin, the product of sound through gray, the door the same as the wall, black stripe brown stripe, and the pipe like an olive corduroy gave the train an all over movement, suddenly sudsy in a tub, the light fixture a banjo of glass holding goldfish and blue gemstones cast for i ching boulders some ash floating down on orange marble when manly, if he could replace the gun with a pram, bold accident parameter, the old captain, loosely fitting soundtrack paramita darted onward onto the massage table and tangibly dangled the retraction, and finally, really, a muddy dirt road right in the middle of London? Unlikely. going up to start the argument with its pedicel, or junction, made punctuation normalized, let's imagine a bowl cut, let's get into the thought process of an agent who can't do anything the same twice ever for once the long green slough had crashed her body might look cramped, life preserver printing fetish, SS CHROMEGANOON lollipop diner, the tip-off had smoked olive oil used to deep fry the artichoke hearts, and tiny little tablets of rippling watery checkerboards, the golden statue of the midget carried a long pink cigarette in its weird elongated bird-like claw, etc. Comely, the entrance accordions green paper for cylinder near its western end we see all kinds of people trying to get their seats among the dark red flames of the trumpeting exuberance. let her get in front of you, then pass the message discretely into her novel. 75. A unifying theme within their coding, an opposition to black soap, and on the close circuit television you could see them having it off again, it wasn't quite the situation the director wanted for her best agent, but fig lake honey and almond butter ham, twin, twin, the Russian one should take its pipe green strudel among the meerschaum rushes, little ceramic dachsun regal silver eye box.