July 2nd, 2002 - 11:39 a.m.

A lack of tortured spirit breeds nonchalance and unliterary drivel.

Calling into the horizon, �hullo?�. But then, who cares?

The ostrich bops its head. �You silly thing, this summer heat has gotten to you. Or is it just I.?�

And all she can do is smile idiotically. Not a care. The universe could crumble. Stars could fall from the sky. The ebola virus could ravage the east coast.

Have you met this feeling? Allow me to introduce.

My goodness, such sentimentality. This is a clean piece of white paper, of a heavy grade, and I shall try my best not to soil it.

N.

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