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The Ebb and The Fancy of a Tumble Down Steamer

Let's be ever full with often and so much and so's Make us lord plumbing and whole Make us absent and make Brooklyn more absenter still Make us warm in winter's doubt per nod Make us blind in the eyes of spektakulet Undun below these simple rational dim pieces of shit... 
The music in the dust is like a soft painting of slow herd animals surrounding a dog. It's quiet with round resonant motions. I can feel her damp hands beneath the loose seam of the cotton dress. I've missed you. Tell me, how is the world floating from out where you've been and so on...
Inhaling sharply she say's, It's modal. So very modal and sequential, and it owes it's necessity to the Naoists at the place where everything and everywhere meet. You know they're taking something apart but not for its pieces just leaving it lay or urging it to die. They don't care.
We sit on tall stools and order these big wet beers with foam rolling over their side's like a couple of great white beards. We sit and talk about potting soil and the length of days. When the sweat of our glasses finally forms puddles on the deck of the bar we know our time is minded. We order another round, a little more patient then before.
I ask her about the weather and she share's her own stories about Parliament. She tells me all about the 7th Rays of Sunshine and the Panopticon of Ruben with it's motionless Sphere of Density. My hands have grown wet and cool as we sit believing each other again and again. All of the piles of hate and hurt turn and dissolve into the moment right under our excitement. She taps her small foot on the brass rail.
Then with reluctance she show's me a picture from her bag. It's messy and I'll never be able to unsee it. It's from Person, she tells me. It's so brown that I nearly died in the laughing. I swear it ended before it started. I didn't have a choice, certainly not a good one.
I laugh and tell her, It's fine. I watch as she fidgets with a scrap of linen. You'd have been good at it. You're not that long gone that I don't remember you being a girl or being good that. I laugh again and shift my hand to her near knee.
She hides the linen in her fist. What Person said, All of that yellow microweave and the broken box... I'm confused. Did Chuck ever know...


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