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The virus drifts, a long silk rope that winds in a loop deep within the man’s lower intestine.
Stuck here for days, embedded within the rotting meat of a cheap beef pie that the man has bought from an old mom and pop’s general store on the way home from his job at Johnson & Hibbard—‘The Tax Specialists’— the virus knows patience. In its limited way, it understands that the body encasing it is not, by and large, a strong body.
Dear Cat, We started off so well, I saw you outside (without a collar or bell), I fed you to shut you up, And keep you from little birds you might get rough (with), Now you're yowling outside - monotone, I was a fool to believe that you'd leave me alone, And I have no boot to throw, But you're black - if it hit you, how would I know? We used to be close friends. I'm not a catmurdererbynature butyoudrovemetothis!