He entered the store smelling of fireworks.
He shook his yellow-blue childish umbrella with that picture of the crying dog.
Well I’ll sit in my blue van eating sandwiches until we get the order.
When I won’t have any margin for thought.
My body will acquire the old familiar position of the letter gamma.
Lick, lick my wounds.
Cause that’s what we need.
To get even half a step forward.
In red.
