200_minutes deb months crawl by, pointed noses and sickly fingers prod and pick us all along- hours dance fluidly about me as i remain rooted, idly watching the scuplted clouds waift by- but the sparse time i have with you... all i do is blink, and it's gone. 200 perfect minutes spent, my only recipt: tired eyes and a fixed but genuine smile 8-8-00 001001 what's it to you? who go blather from