Cloud dinners

Oh, all fleshe is grasse, i suppose. Such is a gravity of pestilence. Thanks Lords there be no more pestilences.

My grasse is somewhat sproutable from my facial regions. For four weeks from Christmas, i remained spiteful towards the shaver. I was not returned to North American soil for thirty minutes, and i was being told, basically, that my beard did not look like a very good beard, but it looked better than the face fleshe underneath. OK.

I acquiesce. I refer myself to the picture below, which is the only picture in existence which lends me the subtle vibe of looking as if i had the chance of kicking someone else's ass. This is also called 'masculinity'. It seems that my bare facial skins, nerd glasses, and baffling hair have shrouded this barely-there trait. Somehow, the cheekbones are more prominent, giving a bit of mobster flair. How poetic.



The constant sunglasses and kiddie-tuque-with-tieable-earflaps are kind of getting to the locals, though. I admit.

Work has been taking up all of my time, just like it will for today, until 5 o'clock. Oh! If only i were euro-peeing.

(I would have a lot more of vacations.)