And what if while two blue veterans of some sequence were whispering and conniving about the young lavender in between their fingers,
I snuck away and crouched down under their prosthetics and let the Industrial lead
And under her beehive and loose braid and that glass filter of mementos and furious scribbling on dated diner paper
Is a flurry of little blue vases
And there were Fight Club stamps on the pavement at every step and large holes in time
And a tiny borrowed dress with a tie
IDEA Associates with bare feet and outdated shots
For the kids