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There was some tension, bag of rope, badge of bones, tinsel in the gutter room upstairs. Stained black! “The teeth” said the sad man echoing downstairs.

Rinsed on the heavy, fluffy, filter of mild orange sky. Dull red mushrooms grew in the cracks on his forearms. He turned and said loudly, while whimpering emerald dragonflies flew beneath him “dull moon & vwavering lines……beget the heavy rune! and swim” light music plays, whistles, bells, metals, vibrations and most important! the sound of reeds.

His eye hits the sides, perfect harmony. coughs heavy breath as furry teeth cover his peculiar tongue. His hand braises against the pint glass beside him. Its warm fluid, cooking in the sunlight. He snaps into place, arms stretched above his head, a lions yawn. The tv is still on and rolls with the tides of the waters outside. Checking empty jeans he searches for loose change, nothing emerges. He looks at a slip that has emerged from his diggings, he sighs and lets it fall to the floor. Getting dressed, unfolding and choosing. A white polo, a thin suede black jacket, blue jeans and work shoes, he plays with his hair..maybe too long and escapes outside.

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