He’s laughing at how I’m taking photographs of dandelions because they’re so


and I disliked my freckles growing up because they were seemingly so


and this jazz music the coffee shops play is washed up, we know it, they know it. The whole arcade of sanitary mammals know it.

But the ground coffee is too aromatic to get us to leave, even when they take away the chairs and put up the signs. We’re just so


we can even see it in ourselves, and it etches away like a mistaken color on a canvas


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