The odd road home

I collected some lines from various conversations and took them out of context to create an odd road home.

He pays attention to the smallest of things.
She’s a musical madam who tarts out bodhrans, banjos and ukes.
There’s more to you than paddles and heads, she said,
I love seeing my foxes running wild, he replied.

Hello he said.
I’m inviting death
Can you do reverse?

It’s a pound for a square
You smell like a Brian

What do you do with encrusted sambuca,
When you must eat chips to live,
But not kiwi fruit?
Licking is the obvious answer.

Under the gold of bushes of broom
Dead badgers litter the road
And the tears flow
And the mask slides
On the odd road home, there is nowhere to hide

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