public library Marqus Bobesich She sees you here all the time shushing people (freelance) in PERIODICALS (periodically) writing letters to the papers (to complain) Do you have any books on blinding loss? The kind that turns the sound off, the colour out. (Seems I wasn’t up to the challenge of loving her) and now it’s off to PSYCHOLOGY-slash-SELF-HELP. I ask her what her version of heaven might be like, whether it’s the rolling hills with mountains and a lake, or the other kind with bottomless mimosas and all-you-can-eat shrimp and she leads me to (the shakiest of shelves) in NEW AGE. “This isn’t my real job,” she admits. I thought you’d said “amusing destructor” instead of “MUSIC instructor” and I pictured you blowing things up and laughing about it. (My hearing’s not so good no more) “What are your interests?”
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