So trust society. Trust the specialists. Police are your friends. Regardless, I tried to pick my nose on the handlebars of willowed macaroons as they tripped towards the vestibule of Tracy's funeral parlor and danced in the middle of the ice block where Super Spade directed jellied traffic to the high way of chewed Bazooka bubble gum and fat city dog kennels. I say what I have seen and believe and whoever says I have not seen what I have seen, I will now tear off his head.
Flowers are lovely.
Words are stronger than flesh. Beauty is Carnaby Street. Todo Todo Hassan Sabbah. The cops are your friends. Spades ain't hip.