so it's gonna be a rough landing you see.
flying into a rain storm in the dirty souf isn't the bastard's idea of a grand evening out.
but here we are bouncing round Atlanta.
doing ghost circles in the rain.
one doesn't really entertain the notion of it all going south but I know that if it did…
then I did alright this time around on this rock.
happy fucking landings shiteyes.
—the bastard
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