Wine gets me a different type of shlitty 😎😎

[…] they have so deep a resentment [i.e. impression] of the most affecting objects, whose images therefore recur to the fancy when they are asleep

Aside he flung his sunly symbols. Like a falling star, from the Vale of Gods He dropp'd, like a falling star shot through the Shoreless space; like a golden morning reach'd The earth, —reach'd the lake.

As he passed though the station, he slowed to yell to the signalman, Frank 'Sailor' Bridges: Sailor - have you anything between here and Fordham? Where's the mail? Gimbert knew the mail train was due, and he didn't want to endanger another train with his burning bomb wagon.