shitpost thread - fuck blackquill

jb

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He clenched the book in his fists.

Trumpets blared.

"Grub what you love."

Shut up, thought Montag. Consider the lilies of the field.

"Grub what you love."

They toil not-

"Grub--"

Consider the lilies of the field, shut up, shut up.

"What you love ! "

He tore the book open and flicked the pages and felt them as if he were blind, he picked at the shape of the individual letters, not blinking.

"Grubhub. Spelled : G-R-U "

They toil not, neither do they . . .

A fierce whisper of hot sand through empty sieve.

"Grub what you love!"

Consider the lilies, the lilies, the lilies...

"Grub what you love."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" It was a plea, a cry so terrible that Montag found himself on his feet, the shocked inhabitants of the loud car staring, moving back from this man with the insane, gorged face, the gibbering, dry mouth, the flapping book in his fist. The people who had been sitting a moment before, tapping their feet to the rhythm of Grubhub, Grub what you love, Grubhub, Grub what you love, one two, one two three, one two, one two three.