The Massacre of rich men in beautiful coloured silk.
Slit throats.
We were next.
Had to wear the silk correctly.
The little blonde girl gave me the key to live .
In a poem on a piece of paper.
I hadn’t the chance to read it yet. The driver kissed me instead of watching the road.
We nearly crashed multiply.
The Spanish lady arrived at the arena with all her washing,
even though the laundry man moved places.
The homeless man gave me a 20 with a wire tap inside.
It was to get us out.
I put it in my pocket.


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