Only the Pots Know the Boiling Points of their BrothsCati Porter
In the kitchen we only eat with oars. In the kitchen there is no noise except the sound of running water and a shrill screaming as the kitten noses the child who then cuts himself with a sharp knife. In the kitchen there are no knives. Did I say there are no knives? In the kitchen there is a kitten and in the kitten is a small child and in the small child there is a kitchen that is eating something smaller, more like a jelly doughnut. In the kitchen I am not the small child I am the knife. In the kitchen there is no kitten. Instead there is a noise that sounds more like a muffled cough but is really me at the stove, scraping and scraping the edges.
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