piled_undr_the_sky z inflated, running around every aperture, the steam stinks of flower oil, and i trace the three streams to their source, an electric machine of great size, the scatter of droplets is like poison rain, and i lie, buried under piles and layers of frozen slush, the winter disease rumbles on, and stops 140214 ... tail-devouring snake . 140814 what's it to you? who go blather from