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One goes off this way through the yard, one passes
the oak tree and ends up at the park.  Tomorrow I will
arrive at “whenever I feel like it” sharp.  You’ll open
the door, I’ll compress your doorstep into a diorama
and smile.  Come in, I’ve been inspecting you, no,
right here, yes, that’s the chair I want you in.  You
can’t offer me anything, not even a reason to leave.
THE DIRECTIONS TO YOUR HOUSE
by Jed Learned
The Scrambler
art-literature-music/arte-literatura-música