old old old

grinnning jackanapes: there was a triangle sandwich beneath my arm and (smell
that crushed plastic!) the life is blur… the scandal crawls…… the paterfamilias
meets with lawscags… to see what we will see. who knows when everything
is bitten in pieces by fruit hounds scorching the fireberries and loftwafting
pillow cases through the air……. voices on the phone: electromagnetickal
wiggles, those eardrums are so old-fashioned; perhaps someday we’ll replace
them and hear things better.

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