Candy Shop - Day 27

 Pez

If my head must be a trophy, let throat be a machine for throwing bricks. Push the spring back and load a magazine with steady American habits: collect heroes, discard their words. Too compressed, too much like a lesson. An elevator that goes only up is ridiculous, plastic cast of the convenience we blinder until it’s out of order. Nice to think about—no, nice to remember. Being a fan is strictly for kids and weirdos.