Table of Contents | 19 May 2003
Kathleen Murphy gripped her can of Mace tightly as she rode the Red Line to work, hands sweating inside the latex of her surgical gloves. All around her, her fellow T riders were openly clutching Mace or pepper spray as well, all glancing around the car from behind safety goggles and surgical masks.
The May dance was a ward for the entire village, painted in young flesh.
The speed of light is way too slow.
She was always the cerebral one. / He was a tumult, a tempest, a true tribulation. / But for him she learned accounting to sort lentils, / Husbandry to pluck golden fleece, / Physics to contain beauty in a box.
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