As he went under anesthesia, the stockbroker dreamed the money he'd stolen had written itself into a poem, and the poem into an epitaph.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
It's Really a Simple Operation, Jig, They Just Let the Air In and Then it's All Perfectly Natural
As he went under anesthesia, the stockbroker dreamed the money he'd stolen had written itself into a poem, and the poem into an epitaph.
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