"No, not the pandas bear again." He was 19. It was a sudden flare. Here and there, everywhere, he rarely changed his underwear, could you blame him, given his state of affairs? All he really wanted was a thought to care, perhaps a prayer for a catalyst to ensnare him, dare him, otherwise prepare him for a road elsewhere. Now he lives on by others stating, "Such a shame to lose a young man so refined and debonair." "Oh", they declared, "and who could have known his head of hair would have been his ultimate disrepair!" No fanfare. This is but a fictional nightmare. A reclused reminder to bear in mind that no matter the given affair, take care to not err, dream not to be a millionaire, and keep the air of a solitaire that despairs familiar scares in the instance you are not there to protect your share. The bear scared. I had little inkling, quite rare, that I'd have gone on a tangential square to concoct such an elaborate, hare-brained
Obituaire.
