by Kola Tubosun The voice seemed reasonable, locution Different. The young man swore he lived Close by. Nothing remained But self-confession. "Gentleman," I warned, "I hate a wasted journey--I am big." Silence. Silenced transmission of Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came, Huffy, short minted breath As a husky radioman. Caught I was foully. "HOW FAT?" . . . I had [...]
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