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The script

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Tusk marks on this bark.

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Two bottles, one glass.

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Two plants reach for each other. They've almost made it.

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Two species of ivy crawl over the railing -- a joint invasion.

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Uhh... something's peeling underneath your chin, right there.

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Ultra Violeta remains frozen mid-song, trapped within the shimmering projection. Her music plays somewhere behind you.

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Under the overturned hull, a perfect hiding spot...

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Under the sagging cardboard, bright foil catches your eye.

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Unsubmerged, the door has the forbidden air of something dredged up from abyssal depths.

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Unused maintenance supplies, overseeing the result of their neglect.

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Upholstery slouches against the wall, decomposing.

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Uppers. Forgotten.

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Upside down, message forgotten.

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Upstairs is where they keep the good stuff.

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Upstairs, someone is walking around in heavy shoes.

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vabsee lebod asjad siin nh

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Vending machines are basically a ten-thousand year old grift, you ever think about that?

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Vents release steam from pipes below the street.

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Very little remains of the luggage rack.

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Very old typewriter. Must keep it for nostalgia.

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Very serious.

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Vroom vroom go boom boom.

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Waste in humbler houseboats is ejected directly into the canal.

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Waste oil or something worse. Don't touch.

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Water echoes in the pipes.

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Water gurgles beneath.

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Water gurgles somewhere below, punctuated by high-voltage crackles.

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Water sloshes quietly against the hull of the boat. The door is closed firm.

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Water splashes and gurgles.

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Water through a pipe, four levels down. Human activity.

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Waves lap at the rocky shore.

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We should have a painting of us like this.

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Weeks' worth of mail.

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Weird plastic presence... feels like there's another person in the room...

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What are you waiting for? Why put off your desires for abstractions like 'being able to afford it' or 'economic literacy'. Become a…

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Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.

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When the drinks are poured out and shirts slowly unbuttoned, will it be your heels scuffing the parquet?

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Where do they all go?

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Whoa, someone's paid it forward.

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Whoever tried to clean up had to leave in a rush.

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Why would you deny that beauty is real? Why would you turn from the gentle sadness that is the passing of the world?

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Wild rabbits watch from the dry shrubs as you pass by.

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Wildflowers, printed in risograph.

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Wine sediment clings to the bottom. Reminds you of dry blood.

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With awkward reverence, you approach the shrine again.

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With no one to haul it upstairs, the trash rots down here.

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With the carabinero uniform on, you remember Vespar in his -- cape roiling like smoke under dim lights, boots scuffing cobblestones. He…

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Womb-grown bullets... perhaps there is such a thing as a perfect animal.

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Word puzzles, filled in two sets of handwriting.

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Workers filter out of Essilk's east gate as the Union band tune to a D sharp piano chord.

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The script - ZERO PARADES - Page 24 of 26