Kitchen Sink

What would happen if you just typed?

Listening to music, typing what ever comes to mind. The music drives your fingers to a beat. Nothing in particular comes to mind, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a rhythm. Words are spelled wrong. Punctuation is missed. My pounding fingers on the keyboard must be bothering someone. Normally no one can stand my drumming, now I’m doing it constantly, but no one says a thing. My fingers can just fly without complaint. Who would have thought I would enjoy this drive as much as I am. Listen to this crap. It turns out I am that shallow.

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I'm sorry but I can't sum me up in this limited amount of space. No, I take that back. I'm not sorry.