Somerset Beach

Posted: June 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

The train is late. The train is late and my suitcase is heavy, both the one in my hand and the metaphor of what I carry with me, all that I carry with me. There is a balancing act in play, one which requires me to observe every direction, every vector and possibility, and at the same time to have the sheepish foresight to do naught but fret about the train schedule. The book, the damned book seals it all. I took what I needed. I only took what I needed, and I let the nurse go. The home office would say that I know too much, but really, it’s her. She knows too much. About me. About the rising mountains, hell, about the valley forming in between them. I feel like she knows I’m here already. Knows where I’m heading. Knows who to call to put me out when I get there. All for five lines of code, and it’s shoddy, but I had to do my best. I was never big on cryptography. I can read it, just can’t write it, like Italian. If it lands in anyone else’s hands, it’s sunk well enough. But it’s all I could do.

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