L a red table was empty. This portfolio remained abandoned on the bench. This issue 90-60-90 scribbled page. The impression now less an oversight than pasting a piece of the puzzle. The feeling of having moved the black part of a huge chessboard. The red table was empty. Suddenly the place seemed to lean dangerously.
The red table was empty. Remained in this thriller carafe into the background. The slurry of a chill in the bones, an air free détimbrant the beautiful harmony. Printing a hitch détissant the quiet walk haphazardly. The feeling of being trapped in a strange spinning frame. The red table was empty. Suddenly the place seemed slyly close.
The red table was empty. Remained that book by John Le Carré. The underlined phrase a lip gloss: "Writing is like being in an empty house and watch for the appearance of ghosts. "
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