Thursday, October 09, 2008

Watson.


Something live has for the last two days been slamming itself bloody against the inside of the fireplace. It's been threatened, pleaded with, abused, and named, all to little avail.
You tell yourself that you'll never be the sort of woman that leaps onto the highest surface at the merest flash of a wing or a tail or a glittering eye. You tell yourself.

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