The lion’s just like me. He’s a twin, and I was a twin, although his twin grew up. So I must join the stage of awful singles ventilating. We head up to Vermont for a couple days. You say the name of a state when horror’s underway so you might escape back to a place where horror stays away. Still, you might escape. Me, I’m just like my wife. She’s a blade and I’m a dull knife turned up in a bouquet. And we get red for days, soaking through our silk and unbathed. We head up to Vermont. And I don’t know whose call it was that I should share a life with someone who resembles me and copies my speech down to every lisp and slur I practiced to put on. It’s hard to keep a dialect when you keep changing where you come from, and that’s a place where horrors fade away. Guess I could just get set up with someone’s got my given name.
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