"...they keep feeding them sugar lumps and drugs." My news agent gives me the 'knowing' frown as he reaches over the petit crumbly voice. But i don't want that knowing. I don't want to be on the smug side. I want to drift in and out of other. I want scenario. I throw plot on strangers. I want to run off with fragments. Make it up. I'm a good guesser. I reckon I am. Trusting of my hunches. Gets me tangled though. Gets me wrong. But what's with knowing and being so sure? Better the other, yeah? The random else. The crazed candles.
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