Accept tourism, it's a soiled tusk again
But it's economic, the mascot ally
We use to perceive, twist and tie the beach
To the forest. Or else you may sing in alto
The way taxis lie about negotiating
Their beams, waiting to ply
Their trade again.
He reached into his jacket and a little black gun appeared in his paw. He
held it casually, the way you hold a candy bar or a cake of soap. Only this
gun wasn't going to make anyone clean.
-- Jonathan Lethem, "Gun, with Occasional Music"
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