Never got a flower.
Never loved a car.
He asks himself every day why he moved for a soul crushing job into the noisy den of chrome spectres and stony angels, women too perfect to be lusted after and too imperfect to be idolized. He contemplates throwing himself through a plate glass window into the street below, but knows it would not make the scene he wants to see. the Spectre and the Angel, representative, would kick his body out of their way and wait for someone else to clean it up.
Never loved a car.
He asks himself every day why he moved for a soul crushing job into the noisy den of chrome spectres and stony angels, women too perfect to be lusted after and too imperfect to be idolized. He contemplates throwing himself through a plate glass window into the street below, but knows it would not make the scene he wants to see. the Spectre and the Angel, representative, would kick his body out of their way and wait for someone else to clean it up.
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