What is time? A stranger walks in to inquire on a hot afternoon and everyone at the table laughs—

until it strikes them that he isn’t kidding he expects an answer. It’s not linear one of them quips, ending the conversation that never began, the hint of irony adrift as they now lie on this table staring at the branches always threatening to fall on their heads, at the stars beyond endless before them while they rest their feet from the long walk they insist on enduring forever they insist on arriving, they insist on getting home.

David Wade said thanks.

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Camsy Ocumen

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