Half of it, what you thought you knew, was kept in the drawer the handle of which your hand now rests upon. Half of the world, or maybe less, as you seamlessly pull the soft grip, rolling it out almost as wool. Threading your papery past and future, going through a stashful of meandering worms Bureaucratic worms. It's a hastle ain't it, to file all this paperwork before getting your meal. And with no hands! Listen to this one, rather chatty, he says there's no better meal than the one paperfilled to the cabinet's brim.
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