Wednesday 20 February 2013

I think you would like her.

She sits in the park with her back to a tree and reads things that do not match. Beneath the spreading canopy she reads about robots and space ships and genetic modification where she should read classics or about settlers or about cats that talk and smile. Maybe she reads those books too. Perhaps she reads those books sitting in an apartment or a science lab that is too cold and modern and glaring to read of dimly lit trysts and whispered allegiances. You'd like her.

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