It would seem that Arms has decided to take another little run. Desperately looking, for any door to duck into, to escape his present peril. And so, without even looking, he had ducked into the first door he had found. Hoping to find safety, from the troubles that have befallen him. For, most assuredly, the bed of roses on which we lie, is both created and spread by ourselves. Why then? Why do we weep, when we lie upon it? And we, in some way, play a hand in every hell that we must traverse. The only solution, 'obviously' , is wisdom. Which, does not cause us to make great asses of ourselves. When, we should be prudent. Not being able to see around the corner ahead. We should not create for ourselves perils that lie and wait of our own design. Blaming others always, for the shit we step in.
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