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Self-Mingled Theories

It's awkward-funny how this usual laundromat man keeps on misspelling my name with an additional E at its end - and I don't even mind him being incorrect. He has even asked me for the asdfth time if he was spelling it right and I always reply aye - even if he writes my supposedly four-letter moniker in five bold ones instead. He redundantly bellows me the same circle of questions but I don't dislike how ignoramus our short-lived friendship is. He must be in his 50s and the way he gulps alcohol on an every-midday basis would plainly elaborate his thinning brain cells and echolaliac questionnaire.

At 17:00 H, a bunch of foul-mouthed critters are playing in our rather barren asphalt jungle. It is a slick-proper opportunity for me to ransack their riddles but my lenses are too idle to capture any of their muscular activities. Watching strangers sets myself into being lost in transition (not translation) - I am all too eager to photograph them and their peculiar stares but I am almost always too insufficient to act upon my ardour.

I am letting myself to gather my delinquent insides: within the entirety of January, I must be able to have at least four hypothetical stills in a compilation. This is not a test; this is a forgery.

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Eяin Heяoin

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Self-Mingled Theories

It's awkward-funny how this usual laundromat man keeps on misspelling my name with an additional E at its end - and I don't even mind him being incorrect. He has even asked me for the asdfth time if he was spelling it right and I always reply aye - even if he writes my supposedly four-letter moniker in five bold ones instead. He redundantly bellows me the same circle of questions but I don't dislike how ignoramus our short-lived friendship is. He must be in his 50s and the way he gulps alcohol on an every-midday basis would plainly elaborate his thinning brain cells and echolaliac questionnaire.

At 17:00 H, a bunch of foul-mouthed critters are playing in our rather barren asphalt jungle. It is a slick-proper opportunity for me to ransack their riddles but my lenses are too idle to capture any of their muscular activities. Watching strangers sets myself into being lost in transition (not translation) - I am all too eager to photograph them and their peculiar stares but I am almost always too insufficient to act upon my ardour.

I am letting myself to gather my delinquent insides: within the entirety of January, I must be able to have at least four hypothetical stills in a compilation. This is not a test; this is a forgery.

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