Friday, June 17, 2011

Snippets

And so I walk toward a bus stop but not a bed where I cannot rest my weary head.

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Caterpillar clouds crawl over the grandest of canyons.


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So begins a novel. A calculated arrangement of words made from letters created with the intention of creating something, well, novel. Perhaps through plot, through characters, through careful selection of latter letters, or perhaps not.

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