it’s 10 o’clock

ur all toast. stop creepin’ me.

Please read this slowly and carefully, as it may be one of the most important emails you ever get.I am Mrs Mary kent, I was married to Late Klaus kent.He used to work with Shell Petroleum
Development Company London and was also a seasoned contractor in the Middle East.He died on Monday,31 July, 2003 in Paris.

We were married for seven years without a child.After his death I decided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimonial home.When my late husband was alive,he deposited the sum of GBP 5.2 Million in a bank in London,which is now wasting and languishing there.My Doctor told me that I would not last long due to my complicated health issues,I have cancer.Having known my condition I decided to donate this funds to better the lives of the less privileged.I need an honest and trust worthy individual that will utilize this money in accordance with my instruction.

I want the funds to be used in funding religious organisations,orphanages and less privileged propagating the word of God.I took this decision because I don’t have any child that will
inherit this money and my husband’s relatives are very unkind to me and I don’t want my husband’s hard earned money to be misused.I am not afraid of death hence I know where I am going.I know that I am going to be in the bosom of the Lord.

As soon as I receive your reply I shall give you the contact of the Bank,and my Attorney in London.For legitimacy,he will also issue you a letter of authorization that will empower you as the original-beneficiary of this fund.

I want you to always pray for me,Any delay in your reply will give me room in sourcing for another individual for this same purpose.If you are not interested,kindly pardon me for contacting you. You can reach me with my alternate email address(marrykent55@yahoo.com)

Thanks,
Yours sincerely,
MRS.MARY KENT.

I reformatted my powerbook yesterday.

They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
The line between the outside and this room
Of a far barn, just where the road curves sharply
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Where, as I discover as I go through
I seek, above all, in the wandering
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Centimeters—that the height of the canvas
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Covering the land—
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Not daring to oppose
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
For any part of them we can make out

i juiced hot peppers this morning. it tastes great.