Wait; what’s clear. Heard on the air, from where? Beyond, beyond. In the split up the middle, zipped and unzipped, done and undone, extra long leather pants scuffed she trips; her sigh warbles out. The aspiring actress, Betty Wells, newly arrived in Los Angeles, and an amnesiac. Together, they sit and watch the crowds lilt, eddy, suspend in thynne suspecioun, thynne ymaginacioun. Whan the blode is made thynne, soo folowyth cosumpcyon and wastyng. Thin white tights, sparkling. Holding up her shirt, as if a gown. Cut and draped plastic bags blow around moving bodies. Smiling faces flapping, stretching up and back. She stands there, and it hangs there, just to the side of her.
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