A fresh very-little-action video.

Sinister. Why not? The sky’s a hue of golf balls, a state of disgrace.
We’ll wait to be announced, though, I’m dressing down to my car character, elbows up.
Taken this long to read over the televisionary script. It’s only sexual in the least available forms.

We keep the old forms in a shoe box filled with names of toes squeezed under the door, tagged for an obsession with stepping right in.