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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Poetry Reading the ManualI never read the manual, I just try to figure stuff out on my own.
Odd how he moved, warped down; his body's slug-slow maximum speed low powered intent taking him ten minutes to cross the room.
Sitting with me and the t.v.
Then I thought I asked where steel antennae sticking out of his head were made, but, as his snail swiveling neck faced me blank, they lowered, disappearing into his hair.
Wow, I said. How'd you do that? His dead screen stared at the turned off t.v.
Then I remembered, I had to use the remote. ![]() |
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