Shane Jesse Christmass

Did All Voice Vanish With You? Just out of London a hundred-yard plank-road. They put dogs to death down there. Flat ground that’s as dirty as the rest of the footpath. Middle-class people generally shaking hands. Abandoned on the roundabout. A woman’s body in a magnificent pose. In my room a fold-up washstand and shaving-glass. It’s a lousy two-dollar heat. Drowsy Ph.D. candidates all in the cafeteria panting. Avoiding mention of him, and devoting our attention to intensely interesting affairs. Here is one of those coincidences, so much for currents, so much for tides and so on. A nail gun“Shane Jesse Christmass”

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