When Sparks Don't Fly

I decided to visit the ole car dealership. I'm sick of walkin'. His name was Ed. This car salesman had teeth that looked like a ceramic floor torn up. As he pointed out a car, his balding head was trickling beads of sweat, splashing against the hood of the car. When I arrived, I didn't expect a Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star experience, but I didn't expect to go blind from the print of his shirt. Ed was sweet like Shirley Temple, but his lisp made him spit like Babe Ruth. Before Ed could pop the question, I ran. All I had with me was a frying pan filled with a few burnt bills. I had to run. If I looked back, I would've turned into Lot's wife. It's like they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I'm not walking' anymore, I'm running.

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