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She looks to her side and

there again is the young boy

who was trying to sell her tulips

earlier.  He is laying against a sack

of peapods and he is holding

a guitar, the fire in the river is

bubbling and the mermaids

with their squiggly faces

are singing famous pop songs.  The

boy strums out

verberations of pure and

noisless capital gains

and the women spin

and burn and drop back

to earth.

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