Your Moment, Not Mine.

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Weighted numbers on the counter top, coercive blank spaces in between normal glances. Exchanging fierceness, bloated altitude combing in an already blanketed query. I’m normal she retorts, throwing a objectified emote towards you. Laughter filled the theater, they seem to not take it seriously. The crowd signs for an understudy, maybe this isn’t what it once was. Moisture drips from your bulbous forehead, it brings out the fib that you aren’t agitated by the intricate movement. Blind fools walk throughout the city streets, accompanied by masterful exchanges of disdain.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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