a bottle of giggles
bursting at the brim
with plans to ricochet the cork
on unsuspecting walls and windows.
Louis Pauzé: "We're all going to die. Write that down, miss. We don't have the luxury of a thousand years on this earth. Only sixty, or maybe eighty little years if we're lucky. And these years pass in a flash. Why not offer flowers to your spouse every night? Why deprive yourself of the happiness of making your house a home? Why resist your impulse? Daily life is the most beautiful voyage..."
I like the imagery.
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