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Initially, you look out your window: A nymphomaniac sun beating the hides of vegetation. A little bit of rain in 309 minutes. Cramming the wallet, keys inside the hazy curls of a desk drawer so you can replicate and go back to embryo catatonia smack square in the pink rivers of Utero Amazonia. Years pass, the first time you’ve stopped for anything other than gas to buy some crumb donettes and a map of the area. You wish you knew someone with hands to remove a bruise. It’s supposed to be once every 3 or 4 years but the horses are helping us now and they leap from rooftop to rooftop as often as the eyes authorize it, which is lately twice a day, so we are lucky… A gust bashes through the window to make a curtain into the cape for a nameless agent. You sidestep to the desk and write her first name over and over on a lined sheet of paper. |
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