Sister’s had these stacks under eyeball since the first Tuesday they appeared on her list. I open the door to the room behind the fire extinguisher. It’s a pretty room with pretty things settled inside of it. Some of them are hung on the walls with a quiet and dreamy weight but there are others that are tethered to the floor like sad pets. Buster is behind us in the corridor. He was going on about something Chair had told him, something that sounded like this, The shape of our language is a vagrant’s bone. Engraved in the stern hip of our trousers lay the slick hormone of our chance to call it…
When Finch gets lucky he points at it and he calls it, Finch. When I get drunk I get confused. I get to blinking and I sit down fast. It’s almost always Buster that’s in the cheap seat beside the case of soft melons after a hard day. But I can still see what it as it is. I can still call it Finch if it gets lucky enough to dance. That’s right, dance…
On the dias in the back, it’s the folding chair with the shredded garland taped to it. The chair’s drab metal along with the spilling paper gather my eyes into a cradle of suggestive bullshit so fast that I’m on the brink of calling, dance dance goose before a pinch of red can even settle behind my eyes. There’s a plaque on the wall. It’s a dedication to all of the men and women. It also states plainly, Modernity is a card catalog that is equal to the many imagining the easiest. The sharp edges of the plaque have been dotted white with touch-up paint but the light still keeps it bright and crisp despite the dust.
They've got it all and it's down at the far end in the deep waters. They've got it at their GloryHollow. That's where Person Helen even Bud+LU are. Ubiq got them all back there straight as business, That’s what Laslow said to Priscilla. They’re still looking for John. When things broke up they looked like a mess. It’s not like they’re being hindered by mocking trees or serenading queen bees but it was ugly enough for that. We’re fighting a curtain. Little goopy curtains like this one, He hooked his thumb at Claudio in the corner. That little one, he only knows from the bittersweet tube. The rest just falls away from them like dry skin on cancer.
Priscilla looks at the Old Man standing there in his strapped pants. He was foul, covered in the ragged bits from the hedgeries and dope holes. Laslow passes her a giant scrap of paper with his giant dirty hand. His fat fingers are such ridiculous looking pincers that Priscilla nearly laughs. But she takes the note and quietly skims it. The boys have to get the backline moving on this, she tells Laslow.
We only have so much to work withThe spiral of danger is rapidly spinning up in it's circle of circles like a juggernaut of doom on repeat. All this time and its John that was always right. He was right about Person and the Qorp. The Neoists are going to have one hell of a long day to play and Bud+LU are to thank. Damn you Helen, She thinks. When she looks up again the Old Man is still looming over the table. His shoulders look hunched and real. She reaches for the brown bottle by the broken figurine. She goes in straight this time, skipping right past the fizzy water.
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