Amid the sky's deregulation, my passivity began to be indulged in. To find footing solid enough to read by seemed a too moony pursuit for words. Not that we weary agents of biology minded, not at all. In fact we liked it that way, the way of all flesh. I almost got famous adapting it for the screen.
Watch out! Reviews are rolling in, and they don't look good for authenticity, to name but one disappointment among the many we, the unofficially bereaved, occupied in memory of adolescent appetizer days. Beige was a popular color that year, as usual; practically every state recognized it, took it under its wing. Then,
in a flash and a puff of smoke, an anonymous source erected a chocolate abatis in front of a grand piano army—to dignify our heavenly anarchy, some felt. But not all! "You may already be unborn," announced the imperial press release. At once we fell to bedding each other, languidly but rigorously, like writing a paper. No one ordered us to, we just took the liberty.