I light a match. Rigor mortis curl. Comes to the
finger tip, chokes itself. And then another. Strike it hard on the box side.
Watch the flame, the flame in my hand and the flame on the horizon. Her flame
encapsulates this town and burns black any ambition as lovers struggle for air
in polyester-coated covers. This town makes you paranoid. It’s relentless.
There is drizzle in the autumn eve.
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