William sat on a tide of dried punctuation marks. The sea was an encore and the cliffs served as a resting place for his shoulders as he made love to a shipping container. On the ocean, cargo vessels filled with adjectives were dumping their tanks into the sea. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you not to use such crude words?’ William asked. The fish couldn’t speak, their mouths were filled with bitumen and oil. The editor said it was a natural discharge and nothing could be done about it. Pebbles scream and the sound made the tide irritable. In response the surf made a plug of hair and dumplings. William looked away in disbelief and picked fossils from between his toes with a stick.
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