Yellow. -- Another day, another sexy english lecturer. And this one recognized me. Which was such a turn-on/panic-attack-trigger. -- Yellow. -- Let us go then, you know the rest; -- His name is Matt. -- T.S. Elliot, or Toilets as he is know as, or Exaggerated Yap-Yap Fist Fuggler as he likes to be called while Erza Pound eats his ass than fucks him like a brothel bottom bitch, wrote poetry so now people proclaim him as The High Grand Almighty Inventor of English and the Spanish Flu. -- Yellow. -- He kept making eye contact with me. Not too sure if that’s b/c he was interested or from the fact that he and I had some form of loose relationship. On top of that I was one of the few who spoke in that class, atleast for today. Normally that gathering of disillusioned college-somethings is made out of major highgrade awkward. -- Orgies are logistical a nightmare -- Matt had a thick wallet that made his ass look bigger than it was on one side. I saw little of the other. -- the best of sexual multi-person adventure are those with rooms full of copious couples copulating -- Yellow. -- then all you need do is ask to "cut in" like ballroom dance. -- What's Jamie up to? Well, Reader, let's see: Not much. Still sexually (repressed, suppressed, or repressed). -- She has a secret, he wont tell her. -- He has secrets he doesnt tell him, but those come out quick. He still keeps secrets from her. She finds out. Shit hits the fan. -- Nothing amounts. -- 'O I have a secret, that no one should know that I should tell-e-ll.' -- 'If I wanted you to understand, I would make it so you could understand.' -- The pollen has popped around campus. Everything is covered in it. Everything is covered in Yellow.
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