Electric relaxation, my sardonic suburb discovery: teenage white girl, 2010, in Floridian living room, stumbling upon rhymes of 80s gangster rap.
How separated we are, how coy, how meek. Large groups of floating souls, harboring preferences and seeking certain communication—in forced glimpses, we see the psyche exposed.
Sputtering gypsy Honda, drift loudly past the riverside.
What awaits me is warm sleep—
transient fantasy dreams.
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