Montevideo, you could have been home. I don't value valor or a boxer's winking busted eye. So, no, chivalry is not a zombie and neither is the figment imagined succulent enough for a Casablancan market. Waves don't travel, they are like Emerson's self: a shelf that won't move across countries or waters or words. Stable points make a cosine curve and swerve and return to that habitual centerline the axis of why to consider if Paris days may have decided overnight nights. Airplane season is short, the land can't support another Singapore's fray; the noodles though... I am a food machine a bad analogy for a computer's electric meal. Transistor Boston, you gave me nothing that I could not get in York; all novelty aside, islands have made a false peace with Ares' dogs, these thirsty canid moralizers; togetherness is their pack, a cigarette history steeped in oil money and bloodsport, as nothing brings mortal coils tighter than a profitable day at work.