August August

by Christos Polydorou

​Stepped out into the real world (with the biggest smile I could master). The real world is all movement and music and melody and embryos (there seems to be a pattern forming). I needn’t worry about never ever seeing every Middle Eastern man I have ever fallen in love with, he’ll show up at the table (when I’m blind drunk). Come for the nudity, stay for the chains, run your fingers along the undergrowth, experience the majesty of forests, the plot is boiling. 

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