ferris wheel

Wait, I found some more good times!

Everyone and everything is bathed in a supernatural light. The old drunk with his beer by the mailbox, the Polish mother with the swollen eyes and transparent vinyl babushka tied tightly around her head. Her flaxen haired son runs ahead into a crowd of pigeons. His arms wave and the pigeons flap their wings. He is an angel and the sky is a bell; I want to blast a bullet through the top, just like in that U2 song. I feel everything coming together and falling apart, like the magic number itself, splitting and dividing in the sky.

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