![]() | ||
|
|
|
|
|
Yeoman Kit Colony: Everything feels like dog. I’m in bed, in a perfectly dark room: my only available senses are smell, sound, touch, taste, gravity, and time. Arbitration: Bryce and Mateo, the prosecuting attorneys, are sitting in an office together, looking at a few items of discovery material. Poems: From Yapping With A Friend One Night; Two brief things from two different old notebooks; Onward. ζ |
||