|Critique| Human Lot
I. Human Lot Dean Young I'm amazed we haven't crawled off by now. Later we could go back and cross things out, that way we wouldn't know where we came from, the shapes we asked to be bent into. Sinatra'd be okay again, mother the same distal approximation, the sea still trying to spit it out. Sometimes your sleep is different than mine. I can't catch up. I don't know--there are..