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Catfish

I’m floating, but am I flying? I drift just high enough to see the catfish clawing at the 12 grain bread loaf. I feel aloof. I’m magnetized towards number One, fighting this endless drift that I try to shake off like salty beach water. It clings. I can taste it in my mouth. The door- not the door. The Drift listens as it hovers me over the roof, and plants me by the window. They’re smiling. I knew they would be. My vision blurs, I heave, trying to catch my breath before it escapes and they notice I’m here. I’m not here, I’m not here, I never was.

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