BUDDY CAN YOU HEAR ME?
I went out to the slag-heap. It
was piled high with frames, and
thousands were there, famished
people and their dead-eye dreams.
Each one claimed a frame, and tried
walking it away. Some were heavy,
others were less so. Eventually
everyone was gone, each with their
own personal frame. Then there
were none. Like living again,
but on Tulsa time too.
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