Maybe there will be a new maybe soon to move us on to a new place. Maybe the maybes will be new and shiny and clean, and we will be proud to have known them and to have eaten off the same plates and to have seen the same fish and chip shops through the same windows of the same caravans.
Is that how moistness should be celebrated, with celery and hidden trifle machinations?
I have seen the dark blue clarinets of Wednesday night gathering on the hillsides. I have seen their campfires and I have - once - eaten one of those biscuits you all dream of as the dawn rises above the blue remembered eggcups of a bright new day.
I once met a man with a piece of string.
I said "Is that a piece of string?"
He replied, "Yes, I'm taking it for a walk. It is tied to this other piece of string because it has not yet - it is only young, as you can see - it has not, as yet, learnt obedience. Consequently, it can - sometimes - get a little too boisterous, which can be a little bit dangerous in a busy street such as this deserted pathway along a dangerously sheer cliff at midnight."
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