You want an open divorce. Yes.
I’m thrown into an absolute — take a wild guess.

Moolah, piles of it stuffed in holes carved out of planet Earth, stacking up with such speed the piles reflect us as we advance toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about.

It’s as though all is well with our petroleum investments, colors and dynamics

meaning I am ready.

Taking on qualities of the other, would you like me to coax you with a diagram; it’s because it’s unexpected he had his hands up in the air, made eyeglasses with his languid fingers turned over, meaning he was ready

— looks like he’s breathing! A spoon worm lives inside the womb, a male redback dies in her reproductive tract! somersaulting into his mate’s fangs while feeling the tap from mañana to shoot his own squeegeed pain —
Tell me. What kind of ethicist lives off oil from the ground?