I spilled my head all over the desk. The electricity cracked and something loosely embedded in my neck tumbled off. A maple leaf in a light rain closed the gap.
I visit kids grown out of their corporate sneakers and observe stuffed animals patched up with quantum care.
A gutted out Victorian, hollow but protected by the bears and rabbits, looms next to the Polish cleaners. Where is the plaster they use to fix geographical brain surgery?