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Thursday, March 11, 2010
Story, part 7.
The cubicle walls were white, like the arctic tundra. They were sort of the same colour, but maybe a little lighter. They were not as cold, that would make the toilet a most inhospitable place in which to dump.
Plop.
Plop.
Plop.
The emptiness of my bowels is mirrored in the emptiness of my heart. Upward it lifts and into beside a circle hole through it my life. Forever?
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