2006-05-28 - 12:26 a.m.
Like Clockwork. Gears and muscles.
Worms and roots and flowers.
In the graveyard with a spade, tired on the verge of a breakdown. Wishing desperately to be the only one.
A truck rolls by that might as well have been on another planet. The driver thinking of martian girls in short martian skirts while he slowly forgets martian multiplication tables.
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