Remember dreams and things. 11pm and nothing. Good boring day. Roadside Frisbee. Let loose and torrenting down streams of streets. Closer to something.
Or nothing at all. Wake up thinking dreams and horror show scenes. Beat to the metronome. Thinking.
One two three one two three one two three one two three clack.
The sound of staplers upon slides upon tables surrounded by giggles.
Another punch through the seams.
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