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Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
-- T.S. Eliot, "Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
We don't need no indirection We don't need no compilation
We don't need no flow control We don't
🏀 -- 💄 -- 🐳 -- 🥞 -- 👽 -- 💗 -- 🎽 -- 🐝 -- 🌳 -- 🌂 -- 👳 -- 🕺 -- 📗 -- 🌏 -- 🥗