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Hoses of the Holy in the Parallel Universe

January 06, 2006


On the estate where I live I try to keep myself to myself.

The streets are like canyons, populated only by tumbleweed, magpies, and the gentle hum of personal sunbeds.

Sometimes contact is unavoidable, and the thing that I fear most is the dinner party invitation.

I sit in terror, token bottle of wine on the table, afraid that at any moment my hosts will turn out to be christian swingers.


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