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sippicancottage

A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything

Cave Paintings

Every bolt is rusty. The lead flakes from every span. The drifts of grit idle along the curb. Newspaper jellyfish float on the exhaust breeze. A block of ice is Seven Cities of Cibola. Ninety-nine people close the window. But one raises it and sits on the sill. It’s enough.

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