A Sock for Justness

Feeling the steady flow of wistful at a time like this is like a tomb of flowers, i'n't it? You creep down ever so slowly, remove garb, nod to the partition and steady into temporary decline, where you, as a second person foil for the first, quietly and painfully admit the absence of a spine. It's not much fun wobbling about the ol' day-to-day, but it feels like a brace, and is as hard to break, especially. But for anyone with a spine, it would be like snapping a particularly easy-to-snap twig. I wonder if you can buy one. Still, there's no point coding the world's non-issues. Let's get down to the business of who puts what where.