Saturday

Fannyt o her admirers

In this city not a word said walk the weight of its period. Not a closer kempt spade chairing
the wheel of thought after thought Fanny's got control of the state. Not earthquake but other
howevers where bearing bill she's a city lady with pontoons galore. Her rattled hair, as any
hair dryer knows wont sit in place be still wear its performance off sheen the darksome
brutal of river. And races borne by calumny won't cracker her forest egregious crowd.