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Dommage
















Isn’t that sweet, isn’t that too sweet?










(A shithole)






All at once, no peanut


That’s tough

I’m sorry that we don’t measure up to your way of thinking






Heavy, she said. The only trouble with America, it spoils the women






Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death…


