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ideas, essays, and stories for the increasingly dull 21st c
I’m notoriously the Samantha Jones of my friends, but recently I have begun to feel nonsexual.
My body feels inside out and made of wet, brittle plywood. The kind of freeway flotsam you see ditched on the M2. Like the subject of a Roger Ballen photograph..
Accidental eye contact with
grocery clerks as I buy microwave meals is the closest I have to game right now.
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