Here the fly in the pristine porcelain urinal is painted or
pressed on. The stink is flushed away by machine. Here the sun comes up over a field of
aircrafts and it makes the blinking neon sculpture pale. The sculpture blinks
the word HA over and over. It is laughing at something.
Here I am not stared at, barely noticed even. I am no title
of tribe or race or status to be called to.
I am just someone with enough money to be going somewhere far.
Here there is no dust.
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