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The pretty felt monkey tore away at Partridge's stony heart while the rest of us kept sponging at our

reflections. Buddha's image screamed under brassy swipes. Mute and naked, we were finally aroused by the din of Nirvana, though the blood on mirrors began to clot. It was raining wishes but each one shattered into millions upon contact. It was a wishful sight so we clung to religion instead. We were suckers now and discovered our lolling tongues.

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