Pool_1

>> The Lawn <<

W= f(dX) = 1 / ((faith) . (allegiance)) 2 More or less, that trip to the apartment did work as planned with a few emergency U-turns aided by the narrow turning radius of that vehicle. The wetted and rewetted face mask plus the plastic barrier and the air flow did their jobs. Just ahead was the address, Marcus was nearly wild with brain fever from the heat of that vehicle, but nevertheless, alive with his lungs intact. Finding the apartment wasn't hard, as it was clearly marked with a large sign on the lawn, on the large lawn, on the very very large lawn - a large sign dwarfed by the massiveness of a lawn proclaimed Straussman Village. This grave yard, like a national park, went for miles, miles and miles. A complex, row after row after row of apartments with all sorts of cutesy tree and flower formations within - edging beyond edging beyond anything imaginable in any reasonable brain was not equal to the edging seen here. That's the key. The trusting reasonable brain does not conceive deceit of this magnitude and thus falls prey to it. Honest people fill in gaps with honest conclusions. That's what makes them food. Marcus just gaped with cracked lips in feverish stupor, then unleashed a canyon echoing, window shattering "Witch! rat ass sucking shit spitting witch!" as the "Marcus, you trust too much" was twisting through reviving even the diphtheria baked neurons in the recesses of his steam pressurized head. You... you... you... Devil!" was the worst he could finally muster. He raised his arms to heaven and sought the help of God, dropping to his knees, "God, I am not good at this. Send me down a really really good curse! Give me words to peel her flesh! All I can think of is 'poo poo'. I need better than this! I need better!" God