interior thought: match these crowded

interior thought: match these crowded thorns with icy tentacles of firm design
folly
irks out a slow time with the hamptons swigging their sweet cigars–exploding
cigars. they haven’t a clue what lurks in the fiery deepnesses. manalive,
what is there? the man with his own cue stick unfolding, the non-belligerent
bouncer/soundtech chick who kept busting out her starsnstripes when she got
tripped, or so she said, or so she said she never (except once or twice)
threw someone out (except once or twice) and she was in my face so close
that I was startled, in spite of my whiskeyed state, startled. silly one,
there’s that so-called muffin, and then he says, “hello!” and that was the
end of that conversation about the redress. gurgle gurgle gurgle. glub glub.
it was a non-weekend for sure. not so much because of the three days, as
the just non-doing of anything in particular and specifically at all that
could be remarked upon. after sweet thursday, there was just a tiny moment.
(sweet thursday, being a good evening all round, with all the spots seeming
to fall into the right places. didn’t feel thorny in the least. or smudged
or thin around the edges.)

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