We wear the masks long after penguins have been extinguished. By now we are hauntresses, hordes of extinction shuffling along the city streets under the excruciating weathers of this brutal world we’ve inherited. Individually, we are called pinguinos. It’s something to do; the world is depressed and none of us have jobs. Nights, we pull the masks off beak-first, breathing our first fresh breaths of the day. Then we strip out of our black and white sweatsuits. Then we pull out our vapes and get high. Some of the cool kids
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