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Lazy Bones of Boston I saw you in the cape. you were in boston. I think that you were smoking cigarettes. was your house on fire? no. was your passion aflame? no. was your cigarette on fire? we remember this differently, but as I recall, I tried to light it, and the wind blew out the match. the smart harvard students walking nearby laughed. the river surged and surged. it was the charles river. the charles river of boston. I felt ashamed. the river was bold and masculine. I was afraid. rivers are demonic and cold and sinister in every conceivable way. there is no such thing as a nice river. it is like a snake. or a bicycle with a flat tire. if only I could smoke, or light a cigarette or swim or walk really quickly, away from it like a river would, if it could or you let it.
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