I don't want much, I'm happy with what I've got. On the second floor passed the ruffian on the stair. What the driver saw through the letterbox of number 4. I don't laugh much, it will be deafening when I do. And all these little shocks are deriding my imaginary dynamo. I wish I could give you undivided attention every minute of the day but I can't. Cleanse my heart, and everything will be explained in the diaries, especially the latter part. I'll be a somebody upon my hectic last day in hell. Give me ability to knock the pen away from his hand. I wish I could have just a little bit more, just a little bit more of your time.