As he lost more and more interest in what he was presented everyday he became bitter and sought reverence, for if reverence was to swear it would swear for the sake of providence, and providence was clean and neutral like the way his washing smelt after coming out of the laundry:

FRESH

with scales and solid ables, fermented in the sunlight and providing an innocent distraction from the important issue at hand: an elongated father clock that had served as a "side piece" of discussion when the self was missing a certain rendezvous (or as he would struggle to remember it when writing letters to fellow spies: wren-des-vows or simply Walter, David, Victor) with other parts of the self or perhaps even someone else. Reaching into his pocket for a pen; then hoping that he could find scrap paper, and then finding what was called scratch paper (some people would have you believe that they are the same thing but scratch paper is significantly smaller than scrap paper leaving one with less room for notes, sketches or other ideal thoughts) later on by Joseph Pandolfo -- who was regarded as an incompetent freckle by most opinions -- and his wife Mae who often found herself right in the middle of July all the time wondering what ever happened to Apryl-- he wrote the following note:

Took too many pills, stopped by your home. Introduced to some nappies. Introverted reactions/distressed or distraught -- mostly disgusted.

He then scribbled this out and wrote:

Took too many pills, stobbped by your hours.

He then scribbled this out and flipped the scratch paper to the other side -- which was blank. He wrote this:

Took too many pills, stopped by your house. Introverted/distressed, let’s undress. Let’s undress.