| Jonah Winter | |||||
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The exigent lamplighter spurns moist advances of a damsel in distress, one of those party animals more in need of a fire engine than a boyfriend. (All of this transpires in Nova Scotia.) And then the blank slate said to the little girl: Write on me. Fill me up. Give me something to erase That was a few years ago. Now, the Spanish-speaking parrot hauls junk for 6 bucks an hour. Not bad, when you consider the long lines of pedestrians standing silently in the snowy wilderness, year after year. Some day, something will happen. Until then, let's all keep congregating in the church basement, singing Kumbaya to a round-robin group of rabbid ferrets busy tearing each other's innards out. Well, you can only imagine how he felt returning to the house he had lived in all those many years. Where was everybody? Why was it starting to rain? Why now? All the doors in the universe slammed shut at the same time, leaving our hero bewildered and a tad paranoid. That's when the seven fishes began to speak to him. It was going to be a long, long night. | ||||
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