Hamburg! Port of Hamburg!

Hamburg! Port of Hamburg! Great ships from Monrovia. What
for what, and post times, and regulars and time, and success
and nice clothes. Germany. German. Every clothes, shoes, hair,
every food and advertisements, every toilet and hand dryer is
imaginative. Posts posts. Posts, ridges. Ridges oh, oh
toes, and towards. Ridges posts and greens past houses down
the river, canoes and men cold in them swimming together
around in and out and through the canals. I crossed your
development HafenCity, crossed you on your trains now your
trains. Your long walks between attractions. Your so many
office buildings. Your wet water in the cold. Your boats
trafficking your vets in water. Your men whose hands to the
cold and my hands bandaged at the cracks by your very
brilliant band aids designed for long fingers. Brilliant life you
share here in Hamburg all the time. Bless the thoughters there
and let the sorts like John’s and Paul’s Fish & Chips go. You
know how well the impression of police, of train conductors
who do just fine, instead would like to help you find where
you’re going. Nothing but you are all heart. You come closest
to outlasting human life. Your church by the builder becomes
beauty by all the beauties that come after her, inspired by her,
taller even. And it’s just that, that it’s good enough to inspire as
many others, is the best to me as it can, by creation beans at
Hammerbrook City Süd, at Harburg Rathaus, Wilhelmsburg, at
Veddel. Technique bonds to foremen.


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