“She are quite Carnegie,” I pronounce humbly.
“Did she not give you my shoes last week?”
“She do. I am saving them to give to some tramp who like ventilated soles,” I oblate.
“What are more ungrateful than ingratitude?” he hoop. “And now this sweetish lady offer you Thursday which you refuse. Why so?”
I point out of window where weather was there shooting lightning into churches while thunder cursed with entreme bellus.
“I do not like this Thursday,” I renig. “It is damaged.”
“You shall be included among the wreckage!” he nash while compelling me downstair. And next I stood alonesome in the midst of Thursday which was quite drowned.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.