My words are going to come out in increments, like a jazz solo from the horn of a saxophone.
I waited with my eyes glued shut to hear the sounds of the angels: playing piano and finding their muses in unforeseen circumstances.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...