Last Chance #20

How many last chances will we have to dump the garbage, well, after all, in the aftermath, a blow-up bill is to take place on the very square meter we’re standing.
Mortgage, in the Latin language, doesn’t sound that well.
We better off clean up the mess right away, before some modern witches must hurry up and teach us how to purify a last chance with crystals, coal and snake oil.
Massaging ankles to stumble further down the road like this French metal ball throwing luck leisure game, we intended to f*ck but nickname has run out after a lonely bonjour with lips sealed with the wrong intonation, a silent librarian pointed out, and smoked a salmon from swimming up stream.
Coffee got cold, what a shame but it’s not the end of the world, some Galician farmer doubted the natural tempo for stirring up philosophies while the years are fading into superficial wedding, getting married with an emperor statue would leave you doubtlessly at choice, while remaining in old shadows of principles and madre-naturaleza had to bury you earlier than spring since you didn’t listen.