open the door and the dead are there, waiting. One by one they picture on the front of the sign that I learned long ago when the continents were other ways. I give orders, I see their blank stares and menacing fangs. Finally teach them photography. Run off into the darkness.
It is not nice, and gentlemanly, and according to the days we have enjoyed, but life is not fair, nor death. Would undoubtedly better ways to quit, but after all you are not human. I look at the picture and know will find you, dear.
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