
Pick up the ball and run, throw caution to the teeth of the gale. Don't look back, there's nothing there. Not even memories. Just a road you never travelled stretching back to a place you never came from, where fruit grows on trees you've never climbed, in an orchard where you lost your virginity to a boy named Timothy who died of Horlicks poisoning before you were born.
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Sun 2 Mar 2008, 0:48,
archived)

almost as fast as Stephen Fry does. Fear my skills!
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Sun 2 Mar 2008, 0:54,
archived)