Happens all the time. You have
to hasten away from your table
for a moment and you glance at
a nearby stranger and then nod,
at your half-sipt macchiato and
folded paper. The appeal is too
familiar to be stated.
Watch this for me ?
Which came first, the change of
rhythm or the emotion? The text
had hollowed itself out, to sal-
vage itself. Had this been an act
of force, or of our literature?
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