Most Schools Have A Loud System Of

A Passport, As I'm Sure You Know, Is A Document That One Shows To Government Officials Whenever One Reaches A Border Between Two Countries, So That The Official Can Learn Who You Are, Where You Were Born, And How You Look When Photographed Unflatteringly.

Every Last Souvenir Of The Love We Had, The Prizes & The Debris Of This Relationship, Like The Glitter In The Gutter When The Parade Has Passed, All The Everything & Whatnot Kicked To The Curb.

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

A New Experience Can Be Extremely Pleasurable, Or Extremely Irritating, Or Somewhere In Between, And You Never Know Until You Try It Out.

This Is My Knife. It Is Very Sharp And Very Eager To Hurt You.