joey is a slug on the floor.
my belly is full of tea.
i have an awful lot to say when it doesn't count.
i guess with an eternity of thought, there's really no need to rush things. maybe hell really isn't so bad (>implying there's a hell, >implying greentext in a fucking notebook). but maybe it's just silence and boredom and every once in a while your cellmate says something and then you have to start all over.
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