Well, now I’ve gone and done it.

Hey, Faulkner has books. Yeats has books. Why, even P.G. Wodehouse has books, some of which I suspect were written after his death. What have they got that I don’t have? (/stares forlornly into the abyss whilst contemplating said question)

sister implausible

You would not, as a rule, find her ilk in these parts; Indeed, frat boys from the state school from a few blocks off, Failing to heed the subtle changes inherent in the urban landscape, Will occasionally stumble into this where-they-don’t-want –to-be And, paying no heed to decorum or traffic regulations, Get to some anywhere-the-hell-else […]