and spring with the fire of a tail in any


                    Tulsey's ultimate money problem was that he couldn't hardly care about it. That being said, he couldn't care about any of the problems regarding a fiat lack-of-it, and more than anything, he maintained the having of money. It wasn't any different than the accumulation of hairs on each of his large toes. There was plenty, under the socks, on his toes.
                    If anything, there was a frustration of some megalith of dollar bills all falling singlehandedly. His problem was, after seeing their fresh, flat little bodies scattered this way and that way across the floor--- well, his problem was that he was going to have to pick them up. He muttered, stepped across them. I'll get to them later, he said to nobody but the reader in particular as he walked along the room.
None of that made sense which was perfectly reasonable as to why Tulsey was able to go on ever being so rich.. being ever so rich.


                    She wanted to kiss across the night all the way into the open of day. She didn't care about proctor, or any of that obscene scurvish. In fact, proctor could merely just kiss-off. There wasn't anything about the outside that had reason enough to call her out through those thin, though very insulated walls. Not even proctor, out there some where, wherever he was, waving bills and clams around with that hideously jowl-toothed snarl of a smile. He could kiss-off, indeed.



Copyrat/Siamese-wrong/Gather me electric, to carry that song