B36/and my butt

The boneyard had bombers in snow blowing drifts.   We got the B 36 going along with the B 52, impotent and sent them out to do their duty.

I had to stand all the time, prostate or lay down.  My butt would hurt after 20 minutes of sitting and reading.

The seat of the motorcycle had developed a hole and he Sun had played hell with the paint, but the engine ran well.

Sidney was morose in the parking lot.  The grocery store closed now not staying open all night.

Alise was no more friendly as if childishness had been part of all of it much more than I ever thought.

Everybody let everybody down.

Everybody looked forward to the end by physics, not wanting other universes to compete.

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