Buddha Health day, naturally the two passers-by, Ren Zusheng first. Tate to see two or three, I vaguely list, how many new entrants, less Richie year. Purple street meet, to the Castle alone, leaning cloth stick to listen to Stephen Heming. Hundred years, but childhood is rare, even after the old. I have no cattle farming. More rain whip itself deep mud slide. Sigh ten waves, yo what make, Sansei stone, all missed. White hair to Oh, force is to have, a wine off the edge of Poets. Who like me, like slaves out of the official membership, San San Chan.