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Float Planes to Steel Elevators


On his route back to Telsan, the truck rumbled. Mostly from a lack of servicing
and because of ripples in the gravel.
Lillian sat on her swing bench and read classics. She hardly acknowledged the
odd traffic. Acquainted her reasons with a scene that would play itself out. One
day her daughter would marry someone who might change things. She’d meet
him on the way out, after years of scheming. Just when the crowd wakes.
They’d take a train with the sleeper cabins reserved. Join up with some others,
including a good lawyer and health care practitioner.
Unclear advice, she said. Follow Jake and how he sought; time over time he
almost balled his eyes out, but never did. Even during Gail’s increasing
attraction to ponies, leading to a net of manipulators. Drunks, and disappearing
acts. Gail fit a wide-eyed wanderer. Jak e a dark horse.
Now she had to organize a visit with her estranged daughter. It’d be a
dilemma to hitch a ride; a letter of request would speak.
She wrote well that night and signed her name. Her handwriting a soft touch:
no cross-outs and woven from experience. T’s and I’s marked as splashes.
A repair shop sat and puffed, holding the block. They fixed small engines,
mostly lawnmowers and general appliances. Big Bruno ordered cigars and
although it couldn’t register, cleaned the front window religiously. He also
brought customers, and his guy’s liked their work.
The street had cohesion. No one ate breakfast, and they gorged at lunch. They
told blatant lies that became a style, and they could laugh. On certain topics you
layered, and saw a genuine search. Uproots, falls, and a carry over. Most came
here at an early age.
Caulder was the youngest. Twenty one. A true baker. He never measured and
mixed his creations as his verbs allowed, often whistling. He wasn’t broken yet,
and had a zest to cater large gatherings. He’d done an anniversary held at Regal
that went smoothly, and directly set-up a banquet for some diplomats. They
were returning from S weden, and lined him up with a contact, which persuaded
him to come see a revolution, the guy said. After two weeks on a tow, beside
some yachts, and lit up nights he found another avenue.
And because he didn’t talk about cupcakes or tarts, the evenings pulled much
at the clothes, and who might sneak out for air. On the deck you lost your skill
to recite. There were a few passages making headway, one suspiciously from
red silo the novel, a store clerk turned cult leader in the glowing grain fields,
summoning uninspired rebel-likes. They talked about Woodstock and
Glastonbury as defining events.
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