Apr 19 • General discussion
The Interview.
In his own world on a laptop that would've won beauty contests in 1976. He was told beforehand. So Mohammed, tell me about yourself, wait what would you like to be called again? Fucked it anyway. The damage is done. All I spoke about were mere accolades. Narcissistic or holistic? Blotchy red raw fingers tapping with timed authority, because they can. My fate determined by a Timpsons. Conscience turning to crimson, the thoughts fully formed of a pole and some flashy heels. Is an autonomy worth my soul? I speak about a chess rating of 2100, an art portfolio that he swipes only 4/16 images through, how I'm self taught in Python and HTML, but I'm just ruled with an array of agreements. An oil painting not varnished. A lime corset feigning a sour hourglass. Pestle with no mortar. One nobody sought after. I guess we'll let you know by the weekend if you were successful.
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The Interview.
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