Young Adult (18-35)
North American (General)
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Comey a shell some years ago. Never mind how long, precisely having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me on shore. I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating circulation whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth, whatever it is. A damp, drizzly November in my soul, whenever I find myself in voluntarily pausing before coffin warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral, I mean, and especially whenever my high post gets such an upper hand of me that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent you from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people's hats off. Then I got high time to get to see assumes I can. This is my substitute for a pistol involved with a philosophical floor. Kiddo throws himself upon his sword. I quietly take to the ship. There's nothing surprising in this if they but knew it. Almost all men in their degree, sometime or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. There now is your insular city of the Met hat house, belted round by wards as Indian Isles by core beliefs. Commerce surrounds it with her surf right and left to the streets. Take you water ride. It's extreme. Downtown is the battery where that noble mole is washed by waves and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water geysers there.