damp_dictionary
raze the second college edition of webster's new world dictionary was published three years after you were born. there are almost seventeen hundred pages brimming with words and illustrations. state flags and flowers. worms and waterbirds. corals and minerals. poisonous plants and ruminants. a map of the human body chases a diagram of the solar system. the one thing you won't find between its stiff arms is your name. you wipe the front cover with cellulose fibers and watch it turn a darker shade of blue. it takes three of the thickest books you own to raise a few frozen bottles of water up to where they can taste the breath of an angry old fan. "you're supposed to cool_down this humid room," you tell the sweating servants. "you're supposed to help me." they don't do a thing. this is what happens when the white box that harvests heat from a room across the hall and spits out relief springs a leak, and you wake to the smell of something too sweet to be any good for you. tonight's sleep will come on like a reluctant lover, if it comes at all. 220807
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epitome of incomprehensibility Yesterday I misread this as "dump dictionary" and I pictured a host of terms for ending a relationship, from old-fashioned "jilted" onwards.

So that was a bit amusing, but, today, I'm glad I read this in full. Your ability to make a scene spring from a single image always impresses me.
220808
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raze (that has to be one of the best compliments anyone has given me in recent memory. me and my fruitless life_hack both thank you for the kind words.) 220808
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