Sunday, October 23, 2011

Thousand: Five Hundred Forty

About the merry-go-round ponies. And the carneys. And the magical way the ostriches and tigers and horses and zebras all come to life after the carnival closes and go cavorting about the place browsing on kettle corn and peanuts and shreds of cotton candy that the nightly winds spin along the midway. Or whatever the equivalent would be in political intrigue, the halls of power, the conferences of the deities of drink and bad behavior. Then. Then we’d catch ‘em!” “Hsst! Davey! One friggin’ minute, you pauper!” Davey rolls his eyes. “Like dead air ever killed anybody. I’m coming, I’m

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