Nov 10, 2005 23:53
Long and cast-black against the moonless rays, limb reaches up from the joint. 90 to 180 degrees. Flick of the wrist...digits flitting around, fingering for the latch. Finds it. Swings the cupboard door open...A hop. Up on the counter, tiny feet,finding traction, on toast crumbs beside the toaster oven. A well-portioned black of pupil swallows what little light has lit the little corner cupboard. Incrediblue! Drumming digits softly searching, scuttles tips quietly lurching toward the tiny blueness hidden amongst Incrediblue.
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Sip-by-sip he became quietly drunk amongst the sweatervest crowd. At least he'd this time found the most opaque corner of the blackened bar, no one would spy his covert frown.
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My saddest thought right now: Would truth still be true if half the world over?
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Humbled.