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| Three wicks glow out
from the fresh-hot flames above them. The radio speaks out about the horrors of the seal hunt. And how do a few dead infants from a species we’ve sponsored by killing its enemies compare to the other outlaw industries? What about sugar? What about meat? The evening thickens in around the flames. The truth sighs out; everything we touch has blood on its hands. We sold our simple truths. We sold order for a down-payment on future order. I was gouged today by the immigrants in the market. I bought their opium-scented candles, overpriced. I let them charge me extra for the metaphors I thought they might contain. |
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