A way in which to norm, we did (or have)

fig. 29) of an agent's day 

Head to the problem of place and patch and Find my knees to find it, All night long and it's all night long again, Too sing sing sing, I've forgotten this song, You're like a model drawer I want to open some more All night long - An older example of this song from math and other stirrings. (note-should turn this quickly to the obverse)

Beneath the cold sleep, the region we've settled into. They murmur sadly as a crowd of ones. They're tired and some of them hum, "I hope you know that this will go down in your permanent record. I hope you know that this will be looped like a thousand times before it's ever understood, BEEP."

PC is wearing high white socks so he looks like a tennis coach. Pulling at his bottom lip, joking easily with AK, if something is funny and it's also dense. The coffee maker is sweaty plastic. There's burned gunk in the bottom of the carafe. Our basement's been dug up, all the chairs are sitting along the back wall, "Self organized practices, what of them?"

Just bring music, "the white gloves are really dirty!" 

Yes, when all of the dirt and the shit gets mixed in, the gypsum suddenly starts smelling like brick and mold should. Now it just smells wet, like it's been practicing since the last time it was dry. But that’s because nothing ever really gets attached. Laughter won’t bring us together or bind us. It’s too much more work."

"So we can expand the practice of this. We've got lights. Then we can deepen our understanding of the scope of our shared purpose, whatever that is?" 

"Let's say we're out of fish, then we can worry," turnkey being where it is, ready and at hand. "Full of big song, this is what AK is always saying." 

"Daring Sagittarians, full their eye's with sparkle," PC adds. "Watch them leaning out over the edge into that great stairwell, oh the nights they'll have." 

"Fulfillment's their purpose. That emptiness is a gonad that's been stuck at the bars back for awhile, drunk on getting again and again. But we're changing that, right?"

"I'll watch when the boats finally come home," Martha pulls out her pen. Handing it to AN, "once you've signed this lease." 

When we move in, our first game is called, find your room. The rules are very simple, order a pizza and then sit on the floor until someone you know has a place to put their mattress. We didn't change anything that or make it grow cold. We were right there in August when it first happened.

Leg of uneven stepping plus ten, roll for lighterly when it comes down, "Isn't that the luck of it?" 

We have to drink the bottle down before running for more, I agree to go. "Then we'll talk and talk until there's holes inside all of these doors and the wooden floor in the kitchen needs a proper sweep, right, AN jokes. "Details, details."

We've just moved in when we find Kimsy inside the box with the cloth letters from all the foster children lost in the war's war. One the back of it was this small thing, "when they suddenly died, the neighbors left behind their peach tree. There's still talk about that small monkey. It shit outside and threw hard fruits at us."

The daughters finally moved out. They found new boyfriends in Cicero. "Our dealer's closer," she adds, "He's down at the grocery now, even if his truck is broke nobody will notice."

"20 years ago, is that how the white house on 18th sounds," I ask?

In the summer times there's always a few shorter days when the Asian pines have grown up into the thick air with the piles of alley trash. The cats do nothing. The little white house's backyard slowly drifts into ours as their blue garage fall into itself. Down the street the bodega that’s closed, they served dumpster food to road crews at lunch time. Down the street there’s a bar and across the street from that is the gas station where the Union Army once stopped for gin. Everything is sitting underneath the highway now. It's like a squat egg from the labyrinthine buddha named, Yellow!