This week's IP (30 words)

Astral flight? Mental fugue...

When the supplies ran out we turned against the environment that bred us. When everything stopped we took the furniture inside: bollards and all. We lived in the rubble of the big ideas,

Please do not speak to me again, Talking to me should not be done. The moment I see your lips part, I want to slip things on your tongue.

An Ode to a special kind of man!

I lie.

The large oak door swung open as the real estate agent entered 114 Maplewood Boulevard.

Should that be a full stop Or a Colon that’s halved