Sniffling in the sun, heading out to Arizona. Metal overlapping the stents, the arteries moved with an effort to become a young baby. Doctors look at M.R. imaging. The computer screen was eluting a gelatine coating.
It was 2 degrees within the Escort’s Hospital. The heating was broken down. The pores on the inhabitant’s skin had a specific absorption rate with the oxygen. Maximum overlap! Implantation continues! The doctor’s tested the stent again. The oxygen was only available to the police & doctors. The coronary was the real incident, now it was a coronary stent. The Guidant spirit, whatever that was, had its own specific absorption.
They were now calling a news conference! What a bunch of ciphers. We were now in Mexico City, safe for blood, via Turkmenistan. There were many Indian’s here, many close to cold-blooded.
Salas worked at the anti-drug unit; he worked out near the airport. He worked in the Artery Disease Bank. He looked at people who had the smallest veins in the world. His office was near the toilet block.
Judge Griffiths liked to roam the toilet block, looking for sex. Nearby the toilet block was a school. On this particular day the judge heard the school bell. He lightly puffed his crotch.
Miss Pahokee entered the toilet block. She demanded oral sex. Judge Griffiths’ heart rate was placed under investigation. There was no obvious injury to the woman.
Miss Pahokee, after she died, was found by a road side. She died after being arrested; this was recorded on October 24.
Mrs. Elliot, 54, of Gloucester, had a heart attack in her car earlier today; she too had earlier been in custody. She was later found in the boot of her car. A pathologist inspected her injuries.
Another young woman, who resided in her home state, recently went person-to-person with a 24-year old man who caused her frequent sexual excitement, six days later, her vibrator led to a possible heart problem. The 24-year old man, a Stephen McEwen, bashed her because of the physical arousal she caused in him.
Mrs. Elliot was now back at home. She was watching some old erotic movie; it was projected onto her wall. She heard the beating of hands at her door, a gun discharged, someone hit the ground.
The next day it was reported in the newspapers that the person executed was one Mr. Cirencester. In the Supreme Court the court pathologist mentioned that Mr. Cirencester had disposed of his children’s nanny the night before, he’d forced a firearm into her mouth. An investigation proved that he’d enlisted the car boot and pushed her closer to death. Police furnished their evidence however; it was unnatural, like finding your way in a fog with only an alarm system for guidance.
In New Norfolk, James Robb, 30, died after being granted bail as well, his body, his heart, had a massive abnormality the inquest heard. In all the avenues of his body, he had a sudden heart arrhythmia; he was significantly delayed in attending Heaven.
A relative advised a Sgt Gavin Webb that another victim of the family had been murdered today, stabbed in the inner thigh.
The relative advised that, “Yes – even though Scott Shaw was found, at home, watching porn, the telephone was off the hook, interstate phone call.”
Over at Parafield Gardens, there was another fatal cardiac. Although there was a firearm in her hand, doctors advised she was possessed by natural causes. The next door neighbour denied this, she seemed to think she had suffered, exhausted from arousal. Coroner Alan Crickmore ruled out death by baseball bat; he didn’t think there was anything suspicious.
56-year-old Cherry Gleeson had legs so profound they were like sheafs from muses not known. She had a bright kiss, over her tongue came a trumpet of words, “Brothers, let us bone!”
On his hands the coroner noted that his black flesh was split apart. In the night, by the stillness, travelling from bar to bar, he said he had seized the same, then sighed.
Cherry Gleeson had spinning lips that breathed the horror that entrapped.
Coroner Alan Crickmore had lips that denounced the stained windows.
Scott Shaw saw the fatal cast of the mirror’s own mirror game.
Sgt Gavin Webb had a heart-rending soundboard that ripped him apart.
James Robb had more sins than he wanted.
Mr Cirencester is the leaves, the forest of targets; & they may be your wife, her husband, & they may be so melodiously dead from coronary disease, that the walls keep the grass from spindling, while the teeth are planted.
“Who cares? Let that summer be cited!”
Arizona. Sand. Sand. And more sand.