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No Man My client sat near the philodendron, it's shiny leaves receding. Anthony said, 'I'm concave', and he begged me to save him from himself. But he was a cavern, a bottomless pit. He transmogrified as a snowman in the sun, quickly changing from solid to gas. He was an amorphous mass seated on my couch. And as an M.C. Escher print he began spiraling in, until coal black eyes and a button nose were all that remained.
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