To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.
...
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Age is abating, abattoir is empty. [...] I am afraid the flames will engulf, the genius of pathways. ....| well said, keep on.
Leaning insouciantly against the wall of the corner drugstore, the fire of a wooden match inhaled. The heat fills the lungs with an excitement that remains for others to diagnose. Slide one hand languorously into the hide of a dead cow.