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Telling a story to my
friends and the bus
gets rickety, loosing
screws. Shaking, riding
into a picture of the
virgin Mary. I imagined there would be
stars when this happened, but all
I see is craters and
lemon cake. It’s a summer
afternoon and a red fish swims
past and we haven’t talked
for hours and look at
the showers full of sandy
killers and eyes from
different countries.

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