This is what happens when walk through the mind of a xrated xray vision having scribbler some call her Devin, others just call her on the phone. Then you cut your shin on corrugated tin blown off of a shanty that was no match for wind. Most times out of ten, into a stupor you’ll descend as the curious infection sets into your skin. You’ll think you’re your twin, that a rabbit’s your kin, and the first thing you’ll want is a pad and a pen. Then you’ll wiggle your fin, take a breath and begin to recount all the tales from the places you’ve been. You’ll see women and men, enemies and your friends, and push buttons on bellies that mostly point in. And with silly chagrin, after sipping some gin, you’ll finally embrace what you once thought was sin. And the compass will then undoubtedly spin til the tip of its arrow points clearly to: WIN. Amen.
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