When hot, the iron strikes a shirt with itself after a few seconds. Sweet impression, you're a shadow whose imprint will be worn as a tattoo to every trim. Seek meaning and then look upon these sickly creations and consider that matter is a form of god that no soul could eat for lunch. Cyclical distance outpaces cynicism [so far] as random walks turn a runner into the strolling street. Sugar glum? Truck up, your candy was bartered to a pin factory foreman in exchange for an ounce of ironic detachment.