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the olympics is all in your mind (cont')
Nothing yet said about the place mat or the dark part of the chair back facing the desk, facing the wrinkled picture plane.
A young man placed his hands on my head, along the sides of my head and said come back in six days. I said I couldn’t, or thought I couldn’t. He thought, come back when you can. He gave me a turquoise umbrella when I left the room. It matched the chair. It might have been behind the chair.
The black suitcase is stored behind that chair. It looks identical to the one with writing all over it, Tibetan writing in white, like shoe polish, the liquid white shoe polish that comes in a plastic bottle with a sponge at the opening, under the cap, so you can brush the polish onto your white canvas shoes or white leather shoes once you’ve lifted them from under the other chair.
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