By the side of the road a man shelters from the rain and uses his key as a rudimentary spoon with which to eat a tub of expensive ice cream

He sees no pictures nor hears any noise,
experiences everything as a stream of text
a hurried mess of scrabbled words jotted in
different sizes and typefaces, becoming an
unintelligible incomprehensible unfathomable
scree.
And nowhere to begin, nowhere to grab hold.
He fixes on one tiny sentence written in an
quiet and elegant font, fixes on it so as to
have somewhere to start from, a base camp.
“By the side of the road a man shelters from
the rain and uses his key as a rudimentary
spoon with which to eat a tub of expensive
ice cream.”
He reads the sentence over and over and over
again until it annexes his mind, his imagination.
The key and the ice cream become the points
around which events spiral in an accelerating
tumble of everything and everything-at-once.

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