Almost to the halftime but the game is just about done

this is no story, but the prompt suggests the angle and arc. There was a was and it was. It continued being as men in costumes kept their lives separated and began separately. Some mention of progress, some mention of the return to ways known previously to be fastened to the face of nations both fledgling and famous. Never a booth hushed by the font of a muzzle. The front line you were shown like the history of a fang, like something sharpened and useful. It was always compare and contrast in the way it looked up. In the way of lines it was always two points and between. You were shown the way out into a fight but your hands were wrapped tightly shut and the gathering moss was all but a stone and your feet would only grow into their prints if they were left alone in the dark. I mention the past like it isn’t still happening, as if and because. We are enacted and repeated here. Take this plate glass and smear it with explosives. I heard the president was in this one theater, holding his hat in his brain. I heard there was an end to cabinets and interior wars. Stop. Now hold perfectly still. Look at the lights.



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