When I was a boy I would spit on rocks that I would find. I did it to make them wet. It seems as though the beauty of the rock would come out. The colors were more robust. I could see the true identity of the rock. Some of these rocks I have kept. I think life has a way of spitting on us at times. And our true colors come out. And I wonder if I am a collectable.
Boneshakerbike 
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