Wednesday, February 4, 2009

It bothers me that Marc Forster breathes.

I am upset.

I've experienced all that disappointment has to offer.

I feel like breaking something valuable, but I don't know why.

Something made of glass.

Yeah. Like a window.

Possibly Marc Forster's window. The window near his table. The table where he eats his food.

Then, Marc Forster would come home. And he would be upset.

That would certainly lift my spirits.

Specifically the spirits that help me enjoy James Bond films.

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