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essay: #092: Sign o the Times


Storm blows through.
Tail end of a cyclone.
Red sand skies.
And a man.
Lying on the ground.
Face down in metropolis.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

No one looks.
No one stares.
"Why are you lying there?"
I want to scream.
But I don't...

# transmission ends #

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