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Book written by mjs6411

Piece 8 A rejoinder

8 is the greatest number

He had lost his watch a while ago. Vision, the thinning of the sidewalks in gray cement, the arboreal checkered atmosphere and a musk of thick emittants from cheap Chinese engines. The thinning of vision, as if to say, I’m not even here. He had escaped the land the girl and the beloved people all in one foul swoop, but who knew a plane ride could be so torturous. He strolled though his apartment, laden with a thick cushion in every step, on the soul of the foot, on the palms as well. Without eating, and only drinking, he could feel his heart pound, as soon he broke out in sweats, and vomiting. No one knew quite how he felt. He had broken in such timing, and it would never be forgotten, the mark he made on the listener. He rolled from corner to corner of the floor writhing in pain and agony, over what he had lost and finally upon returning to his feet he went out the door crying… he felt as if he were losing his mind, in thirty minutes or such his head began to clear and the tea kicked in
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and he had a cigarette on his patio, and he thought of all his old friends, some of who women, and he began rebuilding himself. In forty minutes and such he slipped out the door, beyond recognition from earlier, as if not to tell the world or admit such a pain. A couple of intoxicants later, and some rice, he came to a stark realization, that he had lost himself and found himself at the exact same pinnacle moment.
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