and Marguerite makes no purchases where the propaganda is concerned;
birth defects which cause one’s skin to be made of megaphones tend to kill that particular desire.
public speaking is only an art when voluntarily done.
the fact of all matters will always be as follows:
sex sells, in all degrees of perversion,
and erasure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
unlike eggs, which become exactly what they’re cracked up to be -
even when that something is sidewalk chalk;
it happens sometimes, if the basket gets dropped
like Marguerite’s was.
it’s unfortunate, because (as she’ll be the first to tell you)
chickenchildren are really quite hard to get back into their shells post-release,
the presence or lack of feathers notwithstanding.
either way, there’s not much to be done,
so she fries up an omelette and pulls out a fork...
though, this time there’s a little less savouring in the consumption than usual.
‘kewarasan,” she hums as she scrapes the bottom of the bowl.
“itu rusak... o kewarasan.”
