2009-07-23
the mail carts of purgatory
I wander the tunnels with a flashlight, searching for the stolen mail cart. A beautiful woman steps out of the shadows and returns a screwdriver she used to fix her prosthetic leg. She disappears. The screwdriver is warm. I press the handle to my cheek and close my eyes. I listen to the wind blowing through the tunnels, certain that I hear the squeaky wheel of the stolen mail cart.
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