One time ago, in a far-out kingdom, they celebrate entire block, there was a line filled in flock, the clock runs through on the afternoon day like this, time can be ticking wisely, the sun actually cooked up into heat, it might be one tough heatless wonder, the breeze zoomed and bloomed straightly, keep up the deeper and keeper smiles, smelling those grilled made hotdogs right on top their own poetically noses out there, the upgraded stage to speak open mic, and telling amazing poem stories about eating hotdogs with anything on it successfully in New York style, how'd long the hotdog is.... eight inches deep, not even than fourteen inches with extra pepper-jack cheese, over and over, really creamery taste
Written by
Michael James Brindley
5-31-19
No comments:
Post a Comment