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RYAN RICKS
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
My RCA camcorder with the bulging VHS dock “didn’t capture with clarity.”
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
She put my t-shirt with Nietzsche on it in the washer with red and pink garments.
Our Ansel Adams coffee table book drowned in a sea of celebrity weight catastrophe.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
The dog—before he got out—would nip at skinny monochrome legs in the dinette.
The kids stopped the running and the wailing and the kisses on the boo-boos at 13.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
She watched The Sopranos and we went to see a doctor and she got a red corvette.
Then she blew a tire and I didn’t rush to the turnpike and roll my flannel’s sleeves.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
When the kids turned 23, one studied law and the other faced grand indictment.
I carved my own epitaph and inked “This Be The Verse” upon the cap of my knee.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
Sometimes I’d read In Touch and wear my Nietzsche shirt even though it was scarlet
and I do wish I knew how to use a tire iron and enjoy housewives of New Jersey.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
RYAN RICKS
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
My RCA camcorder with the bulging VHS dock “didn’t capture with clarity.”
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
She put my t-shirt with Nietzsche on it in the washer with red and pink garments.
Our Ansel Adams coffee table book drowned in a sea of celebrity weight catastrophe.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
The dog—before he got out—would nip at skinny monochrome legs in the dinette.
The kids stopped the running and the wailing and the kisses on the boo-boos at 13.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
She watched The Sopranos and we went to see a doctor and she got a red corvette.
Then she blew a tire and I didn’t rush to the turnpike and roll my flannel’s sleeves.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
When the kids turned 23, one studied law and the other faced grand indictment.
I carved my own epitaph and inked “This Be The Verse” upon the cap of my knee.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.
Sometimes I’d read In Touch and wear my Nietzsche shirt even though it was scarlet
and I do wish I knew how to use a tire iron and enjoy housewives of New Jersey.
She wanted me to buy a Canon GL1 to record the kids pounding on kitchen cabinets.
I told the kids, “the drawer below the sink is off limits” but they couldn’t help it.