I'm a Late-Bloomer, but I've Done It.

My dad strung together a very general speech that sounded as though had come from a self hard book for fathers and sons. It was clear what we had to talk about, but there was just too much. The first lines of louisa marcaseres' poem plas aonoi are seared into my memory. Now that the road is dead, and our convertible reflection licks its ghost with a dum struck tongue, maybe i walked a few blocks to the rhythm of kiepin methodology again and head him straight to plas a onoi.