Crew trainer, cook, cashier, order taker
I can hear some small children running around in the street outside.
They are yelling at each other. It's completely incomprehensible.
None of them have tails, though their relatives did. All our relatives did.
Tails. Sex toys.
The children's parents are out too. I suppose the family is going on a walk. They are completely oblivious to the fact that their walk is being documented in this article, and will remain here for an eternity.
Even when their grandchildren are walking the same streets, shouting in equally incomprehensible language, this article will remain. An eternal tribute to a random moment that otherwise would have gone unremembered by the masses.
Tails. Sex toys.
My knuckle itches. How would one describe the sensation of "itching" to somebody who had never felt it?
"It's when...you feel...itchy."
It can't be done. The number six resides exactly in the center, though I'm not sure if that's actually true.
Preconcieved notions...how berserk! Irrelevent adjectives in all their golden glory!
This is my autobiography: .
This is the history of the universe up to this point: ()
This is how it will all end: ?
This is the title of this article: Crew trainer, cook, cashier, order taker
The children are no longer audible. They've moved on to other matters. This tribute to their fun and games remains, though. I'm starting to itch again. It's just as puzzling as always. Sex toys. As puzzling as always. A wheel. Puzzling. Great balls of fire! Puzzling.
When viewed through a microscope, life is composed of molecules, small dots. Extremely small sex toys for microbes that don't have tails.