It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope. Only I do not care to write about anything else. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “Your affectionate “FATHER. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. They are not your flowers.
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