[from "On The Brink"]
Hoss sees not, gold flaps flagging either side, the wind shielded, ping ponger pung synapses spurred, faint feelings slurring, his brains (shaken twice not stirred) perspire from the inside out, rushing at break neck speed, now numbing down into a comatose state [i]ahh,..[/i] in desperation to ward off (yet another?) unexpected unconsciousness.
Both iris pinwheels whirring as magnificent headlights, multicolored hues through blown fused lens n’ lashes. The body fallout stunned housed (stung grounded), sheltered only by the incoming blur es ownership of the common cold; plaque restorations concealed within an adept vintage basement.