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Some commentry I wrote after that poem:
I barely knew Angela, and I don't want to cry because so many people have better reasons to. But I want to cry for the waste, the sickening, terrifying, horrible *waste* of it all...

Randomly I turn to my newly filled 'fortune' program. The first thing I pull out is 'Ghost Train' - apt maybe but unhelpful. And the next? "Sausages, sausages, sausages," - Sath. I can still smile. I can.

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Michelle Taylor

January 2025

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