And here we are, post 240. Tied with "creme"
G'night, everyone.
"With a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound
He pulls the spitting high-tension wires down
Helpless people on subway trains
Scream, bug-eyed, as he looks in on them
He picks up a bus and he throws it back down
As he wades through the buildings toward the center of town"
__________________
"Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin, it’s the triumphant twang of a bedspring."
S. J. Perelman