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What if several of these items (if not all) were found abandoned on the same train? Imagine a siren on the platform, hermaphroditic, smitingly beautiful, bathed in light, gesturing to midnight’s motley crew to leave behind life’s peccadilloes, then leading them upwards, through descants and escalations of joy? Maybe only the bishop hung on for a stop or two, closeting the vasectomy kit and jar of bull’s sperm.
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