The Pope called my Dad. | Page 2 | INFJ Forum

The Pope called my Dad.

I have found, while searching my pockets, no peace.

In earlier times we sat.
 
In earlier times we sat ,before the luscious void.

The rain fell.
 
The rain fell, drenching her dress so that it clung to her body in a revealing manner.

She sat at her desk.
 
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While dreaming of Spain, she sat at her desk.

In time for dinner.
 
After taking the bus, he was home in time for dinner.

the dog barked.
 
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The dog, with an nearly human yelp, barked

Carefully crossing the street.
 
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Carefully crossing the street fraught with loose cobblestones, the Pope cursed as he tripped and dirtied his robe.

The tentacled limb grasped.
 
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The tentacled limb grasped with impassioned desperation.

A wide swath of unknown country.
 
Over the hill, a wide swath of country.
 
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The friendly,but contagiously mad scientist.

Without a pause.
 
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Barging into the bedroom at 4:30 AM the brindled cat mewed continuously and with increasing intensity in his mama’s ear on her DAY OFF without a pause. this is a true story plus it’s too early for commas.

The cat slept. this is also a true story minutes after mama got up.
 
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The cat, being content with stirring a primal conflagration within Momma, slept.

Introducing persuasive reasoning.
 
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