Slash and grab. Take no questions. One, two, three decades beyond. Out before all-over surveillance. Before we carried recording devices.

What was, back then, a hundred transistors. What was, under your nose, a firefly — hinting at the next revolution.

Talk shit without taking pause. Talk shit like no one's watching. Talk shit like your mother taught you not to. Implicated by the bookcase. I walk down streets between strolling animals strange to me. [u]You[/u] were a work in progress, impatiently you incarnated yourself before the kinks were worked out.

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