..That is all.

Nothing I wrote had anything to do with ponies whatever.
Therefore, why would some random bystanders who somehow found my silly writings by chance want me to submit them for approval knowing there is no way it’ll happen?

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Alexandra finds a what looks like an old diary and begins flipping through it. Along with William, Monica, and Val went to an empty city though a sparsely populated country. Following train routes for maximum probability of encounters, they found themselves in Philly.

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The whole wide world has been a mess. Speed on back to work in soul crushing environments when working at home has never been more practical than it is right now, especially for white collar. So much illness could be avoided by simply not going anywhere, as could pollution. The last two years have been an eye opener, yet I fear nothing will have been learned by the masses when it is all over, and the desire to return to the grind so many have been conditioned to think is vital will see us back

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I really ought to break this unnerving habit of commenting. It never does anything useful unless annoying people is somehow useful. And I think I have made it abundantly clear I have no imagination whatever never mind creativity. Perhaps more importantly, resisting the urge to make more comments when my absence is appreciated and adds nothing, and trying Not to break this streak is something I can learn from. No less than two users have me blocked, and it may be more than that. I wish

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I have not been active here in quite awhile. I have not much inclination to continue seriously writing about a couple of things I wrote in the past, but I do think about them every once in a while.

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I know from the start of this I will come off as a fool for even asking this question, but: What's so great about Hamilton? For the better part of a decade seemingly everyone in the world has been swooning over Hamilton, and I simply don't get it. What did Hamilton do that so vastly benefited the entire world, changed it beyond recognition making the modern world possible? I repeat I am very much aware of the fact I look like a fool for not knowing something that made my own possible.

An uninspired author is sitting at a desk, quill firmly grasped in right hand, and fluttered and flared wings spread as they could get. Every passing second, her hand gets whiter from gripping it too hard and an observer might think it's ready to snap.

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I have not been to work in the past four months. Early February. I briefly felt unwell in the early part of it, then planned to come back to work. Before that could happen, it shut down. Clothing is not deemed essential business. I haven't felt unwell for the better part of what of this year has passed.

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Angelo Seville

I'm out. No longer stuck in that strange and weird place. The sooner I forget, the sooner I can be at peace.

Unconscious woman sleeping on the backseat of this van, she looks about a peaceful as anyone could be. Once we get back to the house, I hope never to see any of these abominations again. I found love in our close friend, and she's in the one behind us.

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