Ninge Engelen


I looked around and saw all theWindows and trees and hairdosBrick, recemented, old, differentHeights and browns and entrances,Rusty bikes; the Mediterranean groceryThe organic butcher, Turkish

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⠀⠀⠀⠀In the dark crème living room and the brown crooked streets outside⠀⠀at night—⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the numbers keep shooting up⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀on the yellow television screen.

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