Posh Bird

The gramophone spirals out Francois Hardy as bubbles flow like rain. You give your hair a fresh unmussed toss and waiver between emerald green fur or a quilted bomber adorned with bird cages and flora. You take another spin and let your eye gaze over the whispering garden. You are struck with a longing for a silk shirt and tux trousers borrowed from the gentlemen's club save for those stunning silver heels you step into as you step out into the nighted air. 

Oops! There's nothing here, Baby!

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