Note #30

the oldest gang by the tree

Laslow shrugged his beefy shoulders and continued reluctantly, To wish for the security of a government any government is to take a step backwards and pray that some more of those bullets haven't evolved to chase away our butterflies too. 
Priscilla added, We're only a people divided by a nod. What Bud+LU don't seem to see is that our resources, our homes, and our joy are already shared. It's our institutions that partition them. They take away what's theirs, She says with contempt. 
I startle back to this life. The living of it a day after you've gone, after the fashion of the things that you left behind in that cold wooden drawer. I've grown a nerve or two since this morning. If this thing can float and its warm I will cling to it for days now. I can learn to breath, to forgive, and to be patient to the servants by my door. When Coronado, Ginsey, and Bleat hand over the keys, Bleat says that we won't regret it. I'm so struck that my eye's flirt with Ginsey's if only for a brief flash. But that man is pip he's on the top of his wick. The staccato pump and the wheeze of the children's typograph bellows winds its way down the stairwell from the shop above. The glass wall behind Coronado is pebbled and frosted like fresh new ice in February.
I blush and hand Ginsey the yellow slip. He pulls out his eye glass and looks over my words. I feel embarrassed that he has to suffer my penmanship. Its bold but childlike, I've never favored a quill pen.
Dogmatic, clean enough to be healthy
Dirty enough to be happy.
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Don't worry, he says. I've seen this kind of thing before. It doesn't take long and when it's over you'll never miss it. I look at the sign behind the desk. The thing is so literally immense that its just really honking big. Still it trifles in comparison to the fountain that we took lunch beside. I'll always cherish that luncheon. Thank you, I whisper gently...
Ginsey looks at me over the top of his glass, The spelling is archaic but we'll match it fine enough... 
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