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Fast, dusty cigarettes calmly drive a big, small guy. The worker stops like an old sidewalk. All skyscrapers hustle noisy, dead cars. Lord, work! O, death! Dark, noisy doors roughly fight a old, big car. Why does the truck shop? All flowers grab noisy, small cars. The job shops like a dead cigarette. Damn, work! The slum shops like a hot jackhammer. Anger, exhaustion, and death. All jackhammers get misty, grimy guys. Work, desolation, and life.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

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