Quote:
Originally Posted by stopdog
I would not waste my reproving glares on such an activity. I would simply take my gin and dubonnet into the sound proof private library, shut the door, and wait for the unseemly hoopla to pass.
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You know you'll end up finding at least three of us hiding under your desk giggling like 10 year olds 
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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