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2014-05-19
the womb as a 3-d printer


A middle-aged, traveling casket salesman breaks down and cries while dining alone at an Olive Garden somewhere along the 580 corridor. The wind remembers and replays all our childhood dreams on sunny afternoons. We can't expect tall grass to hide everything. The Nob Hill Foods beer aisle may save you at dusk. Paint the fences red. Death runs downhill.


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