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Use The Sidewalk by Ray Printer Friendly

Death just breathed down my neck.

Typing, listening to music, and suddenly my headphones are filled with the sound of expelled breath. Long and big and cold, like a giant breathing in a cave. It feels like someone has rubbed an ice cube on the inside of each of my veins, all at once. The hair on my neck stands up, the hair on my arms stands up, and my ballsack shrivels as my nuts try to run away. I want to scream and cry and hide and go to sleep and never wake up again.

I yank off my headphones, and I hear the ambulance sirens as they pass my apartment.

Piss off, Death—quit taking shortcuts through my apartment, you bastard.

posted 8/29/07


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