Impound Yards, Sewer Flats, and Barley Wine is Fine

I’m not waiting on a zulu, I’m just waiting for Owen. Plenty of jeans to look at from the k-school lawn, however. Owen is finally now and we go north, along the channel’s edge, into the sunset behind the bridges. It ain’t easy to get your vard on in the shoregrass and rocks. Boat garages? Really? care fro a tug from Jean? The Couve is right there! Where’d you guys ride? Oh, you know, out by the police impound yards and sewer flats. Don’t worry, we were sure to turn before kelley point blank range. Smells like teen superfund! Here we are now, asphixiate us! Back up through the swanky projects in NOPO. My name’s Chattaqua! Check! I am a throughway! Check! It’s me you took! Check! to Overlook! Check it out! Now I know where we are! Make like three stripes over the Adidas bridge. Corkscrew way spins our compass, but we make it out. We are not the only ones stopping for a puff on the bluff. To the hop and vine. Where upright is not right, but barley wine is fine. Dan is the meister, mister. “You guys are like a gang” Drop them finishers at the fox, and then I’m rolling to beat the dropping curtain. Even enough time for a bowl of cereal. Classic garbled text from Martin: “Totally cruising abd gome by shidnight!” 31.8 miles of sore already setting sights on my morning legs.