Everyday Yeah one-thousand three-hundred and eighty-four

I sat alone in a movie theater. I ate a turkey and bacon sandwich. The movie screen made voices and got excited about the sneak peeks. I watched the sneak peeks. The sneak peeks did not make my nipples flow. If I was the president of sneak peeks I would be disappointed that nipples weren’t flowing during viewing locations. I drank some blueberry root beer. I finished the sandwich. Wax paper loosened from the grain wheat spread with white mayo and the daylight faded into a 6:50pm viewing of the future sounds of a moose with nostrils in the backyard of the townhouse where I grew up. Stuff the waste in a brown paper bag and drop candy on the tiles. Open bags occur full of peanut butter m&m's, but there are no pretzels. I wanted to buy the new pretzel, but the store next to the movie theater didn't sell the new pretzels. Yeah was two fat girls. Yeah filled my loneliness with the weight and smells of two shy large girls.