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with blood money, all the plazas crenellated earth diced to fit in wires, glass gothic, other worlds echoing everywhere. I should listen. I walk around feeling maybe normal again, impossible my body anywhere. Feels like I could get kicked out just for breathing when I breeze with the riffraff, everyone underneath you in the polar vortex waiting for the bus, magnificently cold and curling industrial steam nearing beautiful from building corners the ones that watch you, everything tessellating on glass everywhere even your own body blocks away. Some days I’ll find myself in the Medical Arts Building like I’m actually in the 1800’s not in the way Wells Fargo Tower constructs grandeur with marble columns and a meaningless ephemera museum featuring a coffee pot or maybe another coffee pot and nothing truly interesting like a bit of limestone or cornerstone or bullet from The First Wells Fargo Bank Robbery just pristine official coffee pots which is how you know you’re in a simulacrum terrible as Las Vegas. If you walk south though you’ve maybe truly tumbled into the 1800’s, cracked baby dolls in exhibit cases, no explanations as though

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