It’s time hookers and props turned stool pigeon
Right? You should have everything sussed. But you don’t. I’ve lent an ear to those training ground brainstorms under the posts. Then you stand nearby and watch. So near at times, touch, pause, engage is drilled into your head.
But you’re clueless what’s gone on. Who’s to blame? Who’s not to blame? Someone emerges with his chest out. Pats on the head. For doing something wonderful.
