Break fog descending musn’t let it get a grip and do.

The day minces to a middle before sleep overcomes. Waking to the high sun a car is pulling up and the cat runs for the underbed I just left. Comes unwellness comes soup of the wolfgang. Now as it sets again there is nothing for it but to fall back down the most unsaturday of nights.

There is more than one place to go but I won’t. Stasis web without remorse.

There is more than one way out of a kokonino jail.