Dead Letter Office (III)

You dambed bift, you not cursed, just been cast into yo body at one 'ticular time like the mos of us, and haf to deal wit what you haf to deal wit. Damb, girl; get yo dress on straight. Dare are no fates, no curses, jus whimsies whifin roun dat silly head o yose. Jelly on da roll, though, I tink da World Bank gig a tall plan; lotta scrutch in that hutch, wink o my eye.

Shake yo head, point yo toze, an tip yo balance right.

Witness; deliver.

melancholic