Up there guarding the skies in the Grumman Beercat, one reflects on the stolid substance of disingenuous ambiguity. A lark.Where are you? A voice required the answer.
In the sky, I replied.
The plane soars. Its giant rotax engine tuned out to 230 knots on level. I skim the horizon for TTC Buses.
1 comment:
If you're going to be a prop jock, the least you could do is to choose the very best: a Mustang!
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