My stomach is making angry noises.
I want to go walk at the track at the community center but I think I'd have to make a pit stop every other lap.
The mail just passed, I am going to go check it.
My mail box is out by the road ... eh, I'm rural, I guess.
It is very windy today, all the leaves are blowing off the trees.
I feel like Walt Whitman.
My stomach tells me I'm full of shit.
And now the mail ...
Bill, bill, junk.
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