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What cracker is this?
Mother alone in the corner maybe in the rain. Who put her there?... did she do it herself? In part, both.

I still don't know what to do so I do nothing and become nothing. No one, son of nobody.

Bereft of a past, noislessely falling into whitewashed future.

"What cracker is this same that deafe our eares with this abundance of superfluous breath?" Ñ- William Shakespeare, King John, Act II, Scene 1, 1594.


Everything tastes better when it sits on a Ritz.