Dance in the Full Moon

O, the Frailty of Memory

Monday, April 16, 2018

4.16

Something strange is seeping from your pocket, a smell perhaps of the last ancient sour patch kid you put there to save for later. It has eaten through your pocket and adhered to your skin and I swear you've never taken these pants off in your life. Why do you do this?
--Me, to ten-year-old Philip

Good luck. It gets better.

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