Ideas About NebraskaMatt Cox
The movie houses are now all empty, because of the new multiplex right off the highway where the bodies enter and leave at almost any hour. An explanation for this cannot be coerced easily from those passersby kind enough to fill out the required forms. A delegation of intelligence agents is feared. Gypsy traders have taken over the lots, selling musk oil and trinkets lifted from the purses and dressers of ghost-town women, possessors of failed estates, fortunes wasted on the burdens of feeble DNA. I see the same things everyday. Packs of wild dogs trudge through the sidewalks and fields they like to think of as their neighborhood. They monitor my movements. A prism hangs from a window. It shoots a rainbow my way, which does not blind me.
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