There were three clues placed in his
path that night, that were stones in
his pathway. The first was a one-life
bitch talking about hierarchies of
gender. The second was a minor poet
doing histrionics which needn’t be
enumerated. The third was a brutal
rapist that jumped off the Golden
Gate Bridge, but failed to fall all the
way down. All these clues led him to
sit in coffee-shops, bars, nightclubs,
looking for souls to confide in about
that night, how vacant the roads were,
how deep the moon was set in heaven.
He had waited, just as they said. At the
appointed time, he had seen what he
was supposed to see. The problem was,
seeing this made him unhappy enough
that he walked away from the road and
the three clues, never came back. Now,
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