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Morning, dark as a wad of copper tasting spit

fig.1) great genie of comic timing

Party party party has an assembled goal at the end of every line item Reach out there's a glass eye in the fountain O' poach'd soup Marble in the hall Door in Door out - Out into a forever kind of space on SwingRoundTunes by the This Old Angel
"We'll lose our sad cowboys first, they're in the front row. Then that other dirtbag, the self righteous pile of puke will do in the rest of us. After that it's going to be a long shared nightmare of hand wringing and broken sweats," Mr Mittens sets his bag of groceries beside the hot plate. Through a spangled haze of cracker dust and oily tuna stains there are sounds of the briefest of moans slipping through the deep blue walls. His humble eyes graze the table's top. There's a glass of water, a peach, a rose bright and blooming like an open heart that's on display.
"Here we are than," Says Mr Mittens. He walks around his hard chair and picks up a shallow dish. The water inside feels thin, it feels wet and smooth on Mittens thumb.
The kitty watches him. There's a ring around its small box. "That's supposed to be a reminder for the very forgetful cat, Isn't that right Mr Cats? You were only being misguided, that's all. You had your chance and then you lost it. But if you think about it, you'll find your way out again."
Surprise surprise it's Mr Mittens hoard. In the back corner behind the coat hook and his winter scarf. There's an old bag of lime on the floor of the pantry. There's a sack full of folded brown shoppers on the shelf. There's soup and corn and a box of long hard pasta. Three shelves hang above a broken box filled with soft plastic plates and cups stamped in gold. The edge of the curtain is oily. There's a black shade on the mat that's on the floor. It's the same as the shade that's stretching out past the door.
Mr Mittens un-bags his canned goods, his frozen peas and his soft quiet bread. The calendar is marked up all of the boxes are full. It's tacked up above the sink along with a curled photograph, two black boxers hugging, forgiving, "Or maybe they're just going for tea."
Mr Mittens sets a sturdy tin of Royal Shine Ready-Made on the edge of the sink. He sings, "Mine all mine." Only the cat can ever hear, "The jerks in the back never listen. It's all horses and sums."  

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