REMIND ME TO POST. I WANT TO.


I dance in clown shoes.You compose your conversations. Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold, ending arguments with a flourish. Make a point, now whirl, quickly. Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation. You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette: One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger. You leave me confused and two steps back,I dance in clown shoes.
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure. And if I catch up, if I make a point, you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust as you make your escape. And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you, Ending your se


Gerald Fitzgerald Every weekday morning, Gerald Fitzgerald’s alarm goes off at 6:30. He is up by 6:31. He takes a shower, lathering shampoo into his thinning mouse-brown hair. He pays special attention to his ears. He is out by 6:45. He dries off, combs his hair, brushes his teeth, and applies deodorant. He has used the exact same brand of toothpaste and deodorant since he was fourteen, but he doesn’t realize this because he can’t remember being fourteen. He dresses himself in a light gray suit with a tie that is slightly tinted so that if anyone were to look at it in the right light, it would appear blue or green or yellow. However, nobody eGerald Fitzgerald
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RAWR.
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RAWR.
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