An agent of anything steps into your life and shows time for what it is: a lie.
Let's take the bullet holes along the side of Ken's sedan.
Pick any vertical line to indicate "now" (Her). Let's say the long crease of the driver's door.
Punctures to the right and left are future and past, for a lack of better tautology.
Inside each dark opening, poorly-captured moments flicker.
On the left, they are ripples of attention. Starlene's prism black lights the steps in hot retrospect:
- Oh what a pommeling he gave that love. He was brown nosing fate.
- Showers ruined the yard sale. Now we know why he sought that.
- Must have been some undercurrent make him call his mom the next day: eddy pull?
- In less than a year they've got him surrounded at the Club Martinique-- surprised?
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