i’m afraid nothing will happen, sooner or later, said sponge and then said nothing. i couldn’t say why, but definitely, nothing will happen, we just don’t know when. so, there is this feeling, somewhat stuffy and dark, but definitely there. i told you know, you can quote me on that.
will angst, said sponge, be an archetype for us, on our travel to a corner shop and the drivel that comes with it?
a descriptive term, but not in itself a category; angst should be considered a subgenre of other categories (narrative, character study, episodic, etc.). a shop may be filled with angst-ridden employees and patrons, but there’s usually a story behind it.
what are we, said breadroll, me and ye. nowst a pole and then a pile, nowst a wonder and a plunder then. we are a rye, a hog and what sins our smarting than an inert and angstful whatsoever leverage. phoooiy foooo, that’s it. our red arses shine to heavens loke no tomorrow.
he’s got it again, said sponge, blood fat level below acceptable. what shall people think?
that it is time to eat, said block of wood, excessively.