Crazy

She spoke of charcoal lies and black beetle pies, of interstellar flight and the thesis she’d write. She ranted about spiders and how they’re entrapping the nation, and the plight of the seagulls that pillage the waste station. Her long fingered hands flew as she gesticulated admonitions, and used her cutlery to conduct invisible musicians. I watched as three perfectly spherical green peas rolled off the table in a bid for freedom, and I felt a curious empathy with them.

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