Here we are
again,
my friends
and I,
my friends
and me,
the three of
them
a constancy
within,
without
my
consciousness.
Sometimes
they’re
more or less
the
recognizable
and
analyzable
examples of
their
species that
you see;
at other
times,
they’re not. It
doesn’t
seem to
matter what
they’ve got
or haven’t
got for me
or what I’ve
got
and haven’t
got
for them. We
promise
this or that,
or don’t.
I could go
on,
but won’t.
.
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