Yearning yawn yucked. There he was, wielding wanky thoughts that had been severed into smothered smithereens by his pride. He couldn't had kept track of the taunted time. It wasn't his thing to do. He wouldn't know how to do it. How would he? But he could easily discern and draw an inference on the maladious movement of the sassy sun tossed about by the saucy sky. The trail of tales told and maintained by the hampered hay seemed to let a die roll along the boulevard of mystery. He was enjoying the company of the hay, but he knew quite well that he needed more than that. An urgent wile reached at his consciousness, fighting a hold with a ferocious zeal of shredding the cremating consciousness.

       He was there because of the biddings of the proxy. At first, he had

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