our
jangled nerves, our sodium fluorite treated glass, our waxy hippie
candlewick strings, our solarized moon beam indigestion. Lay
it around bacarat shoes for triangular cards, boxes for three-cornered
3 card monty, levitating in dreamfields of turkey MREs, a few
CCs of potent analgesics and a bus transfer, shoes that don't
soak through, an umbrella that holds up in the march wind.
