My Diary

June was out in the dark writing poems with cat’s eyes. I painted a line over the bridge and on up the hill and then tried to follow it all the way back again – note: hobgoblins are born at the places where the lines divide (I thought about taking a hobgoblin bride and then remembered I was married). June came back in the middle of the afternoon riding a giant pair of dentures; after a moments thought we decided to eat our way to town. I got indigestion as we passed the old station.


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