As the early bird murmurs its confounded anthem, fragments of yesterday’s silence slip through the keyhole, garbed enigmatically in the colors of questionable fashion.
Do you find yourself lost at the crossroads? The post of the intern on duty declares it a misspelled fortune: “Where there’s vinegar, there’s honey.”
Though words are mere puppets of the wind when tethered to logic, weave your narrative chaos. Perhaps a map etched by the Flamboyant Cabbage could simplify your splendorous conundrum.