4-28-2014 12:47AM
I was just handed the memory of a razor in this very room-- the farthest place from my bedroom. Scratch that. Two razors. One is to cut bags of salt, so it's rusted over. It won't do. The other is... Three. I could snap the letter opener in half to reveal the blade. The original one is a pocket knife whose case is broken, so I put it in the pen drawer.
I'm calling a hotline. If I publish a post that says I'm going to do something, then I'll do it before I begin to think of anything else. No time to check for typos.
No comments:
Post a Comment