Comments
Loading Dream Comments...
You must be logged in to write a comment - Log In
ArtistIt was smoked inside the stove, like old-fashioned sausages. A plane flew over the roof of my smoked stove. And flew away into the pink sunrise. The snowplow is like a submarine, driving through the city streets. And the barricades at the bazaar and at the lotto club are very strange.
It was smoked inside the stove, like old-fashioned sausages. A plane flew over the roof of my smoked stove. And flew away into the pink sunrise. The snowplow is like a submarine, driving through the city streets. And the barricades at the bazaar and at the lotto club are very strange.
