Memo #5 - Standards of strawberry motion
Hearing his mother cry out “the butchering could wait.” Hearing his mother cry out, the butchering could wait. A hasty ingestion of cereal and he was away to the night but more importantly, to the rescue. The price of meat had just gone up and my old lady had just gone down. The goat was being fed though no score was accepted. Yes the corruption had returned and the door was still closed despite the wild claims suggested over yesterday’s brunch. My informer returned, released and reported upon the realms. Light, fluffy and brown were how I’d describe the boots (python-esque) but with a soft edge, reminiscent of flowery tables and old people with the possible inclusion of doilies, cress or any nondescript source of sauce.
