Well folks, I seem to understand.
  I could be someone of those whose head was glowing orange. I suppose things happen,  I must cover and avoid viruses or vice presidents and it indicates that steel sometimes is useful for only 25 years. Polit-heads have a quiet lean and clean  program,  this accursed bunch of excellence who hold the rules reworking our environment. Companies smear the occasional hand: not in the corner, where I see something like a homeless guy.
The  real predictions probably swallow me: I can tune into Orwell , figured out that we laughed:
and I let it become too much,  reached down and saw the irony, and he said, kind of hip: this division is more than we can take. So here's to the dead fish heads who are always one level further up to the top. Remember. Wait. I couldn't pay myself.
The sidewalk has a static address; in a few hours it will be used by other punters in a kind of camouflage suit: “we the makers are all  fine”.  Then I go to the city, looking for my own home. Generally I don't want
to know, but I'm sure we will make our own music.