E Lloyd Kelly

The Shi t Depot E Lloyd Kelly

Day eleven: Frozen solids. Zero degree temperature, his balls point pen has frozen up wither, again. And yet up again some more is the door to the very same one, you know, the pen is what we are here talking about, right? The one which he had planned on leaving in his will and testament tonight, locked up and secured, tight, left as a legacy handed down to his children. And to their children's children after them. But now he's beginning to doubt if it even will ever pan out and happen, after what had just happened, to him. They would have seen him there, he was walking sort of funny through the square but, they didn't really care like, as to what was the reason. But there, look, look at it again, yes, you can actually see it all if you but just stop and look, as though through the looking backing memory lens, see! They are turning around to book the cook, yes man that one is a big-time chef in this neck of the nook. So, there they go and looking all over the brook, and laughing. Laugh as much as you like. Your day is certainly coming, mate, or going to be bright. Right? But now, look. ... He is capturing whatever is out there happening which may need to be captured, but in reality, Mister Pole prickly, that prickly pole guy quickly, he it is who is holding up the pole, and shooting too, all at once screw. No, oh no, screwing was not what he was accustomed to coming over and to do, he'd not gotten himself there in those spheres yet and to be doing that brew, Prick never did get that far as to the stew pot. But. Seeing things from another view is what he will do a lot, from another direction, and from another piece of high priced equipment too, who knew? How the table has now turned on you. It's now the pole that is holding the holder and he, the Prick, he ain't liking it one bit. Woah -mi shoulder, it a hat mi. There is a sharp hurting feeling in my shoulder region. The direct aftereffect of over-exposure to too much laughter reason, but.