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‘She’s a little light upstairs’ they would remark to each other, tapping their temples and nodding their puppet-like heads.
But she knew the joke was really on them. Upstairs, like all attics housing the concrete or abstract, was always where all the unimportant and trivial things were kept.
It was what was kept downstairs that really mattered.
By nytrist URL on 09.12.2010
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.