Not to dispel a delicate thing, I careen my neck and ready my joints and set my wrist at a three-quarter pose rather than a seven-eighth, and with my entire grammatical future unwritten, I set down these ambitions: 
We should progress like this: giving the “up yours” to loudly beeping trucks who disturb the brunch crowd. Other tricks: don’t underestimate Paris and there’s nothing wrong with cryptic language. Text by S. Lorenzo




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ELIZABETH MORINA
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