Fog obscuring the aimless wraiths of a dead sea-town. The floating strains of a guitar tangled in the streets. A group of friends huddles together near twin fires, and talks among themselves in low voices about Europe. And propaganda. About the choice of outrage. "We're all Americans, now." A fierce murmur of assent. The sun sets, but darkness doesn't appear. Planted purple mustard, eerily healthy, leads the way back to a pound-of-flesh shelter. The conceit of safety hangs heavy in the valley between seaweed hills. No pause can last forever.
2:41 p.m. - 2022-04-01
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