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In case of trees,
and a fence of saws. Mussels - the liver of the lakes, filter the freshwater 2 L per hour. The wasps, they die of sorrow. Accepting the order of things.
Looking back I had a good Tin-Tin moment - rare cars and slo-mo highfives, examining objects that lie about what they are. Like see through pencils of glass, sharpening their colors of powdered chalk
It’s just a hallway in Brooklyn.
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