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December 17, 2003

Not like this other underpass.

He put his special eyes, the ones made of brown paper and pistons, back in the drawer and locked it carefully. He doubted he'd need them anymore, since there were probably not many things left that required a careful looking at.

As he idly brushed the dust from the top of the cabinet, he remembered some of the things he'd been called upon to view. Or perhaps it was the other way up. Action and perception had become funny that way. Had he been asked to inspect the great brass-bound sarcasm cannons of Iron Acton for traces of petulance, or had the eyes been drawn to the objects by some ill-understood opto-gravitational effect?

Posted by Hirez at December 17, 2003 01:53 PM


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