One twenty-seven

One twenty-seven a.m., One twenty-seven a.m. April twentieth, Fourty-seven degrees warmest this week, Mr.Boots is crabbing he is starving, I’m not readily to fight off the marauding younger generation for one gd can of nine lives! Now Theodore my yellow mane coon is on my back literately, I still have no pants on, Started toContinue reading “One twenty-seven”

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