Trafficking in mannequins, a terrible clown game. Jugglers turned hustlers, what was our nature - and what is nature to such as us? The heroes were unspeakable, it's even been said. I'm an early model, wooden at worst, sturdy yet prone to crack.
Stepping past our first dance direct to our last, we fell upon the interior mountaintop, legs entwined, and rose akimbo.
Her accent faint but fetching, her attachment indiscernible, her mouth an endless moment away, I shied down the site of our snide, dry romance. On occasion I try to catch her fiberglass eye. Even now, she sometimes blinks.
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