I listened to the sound of a marching band playing under the rain where an unnamed storm blew its horn and the gray clouds clashed its cymbals in a cadence so ferocious the sky welled with pride while every human
A button fell from my coat, unmade and spring air whooshed afront my face abashed about a button gone small things can’t be replaced with none A man looked at the moonless sky there’s a hole in the corner and
“I’m not about big spaces,” said she grimly, mouth pursed, a little tangy around the edges. “I’m all about the small ones. Corners, the tiny gaps between the stools around the table. I’d slip into that. I’m content with the
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