The Maddening Wide variated scope of things.

At eleven oh-seven o’clock, I draped my hollowed body off her delightful bed, and surveyed the general disaster of the room. The alarm shrieked I swear three minutes after I drifted off, yet spritely she jumped from her pillowy heaven and headed to her tiny shower. My god, I thought. A double-fucking shift! I tried to raise myself, or merely keep my eyes open, but that supernatural part of me was nowhere to be found. "Everyone’s heart is different," she continued, as the room steamed; as if the concert of the night before, had been resurrected and replayed, she shouted : "You look closely at them, at the structure of veins and arteries feeding the miracle, and you quickly realize, no two are the same." Back in the deafening present, the ashes were deep, and the smell of wine strong. My mouth, a broken shoe of cracked leather, groped for the water glass, brimming in 1890 pipe sublimely mixed with Sierra glaciers. Ah, the slick sensation of wet again.