from Shy Green FieldsHugh Steinberg
Scribbles, a man lying face down in a pile. He was a fool, he blessed the wrong son. So then, chipped, a little sky. A wing, two. A treaty against sinking would come in handy. You won't make that mistake. That's the point, it wasn't pointless, you make the old man float so you won't see yourself in him.
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