A Tired Performer in Another Half‐Assed Season

A change could be a bloom as well as a withering.   Her half‐world suspended between two superstructures: a mystique of waxed floors and shattered mirrors, spiderwebbed with cracks.   On the rim of her sky were only hints of sunrise, like goldfish swimming in ink.   No one was disturbed by the clicking of her heels on the paving…

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