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March 26 2008

Text By Greg Fallis

In the other room they're drinking tea.

Bits of sunlight get caught in the curtains and hang there like cobwebs, casting kabbalistic shadows on the far wall. Surely some secret is recorded there, if only one could interpret it. If only one could interpret the hidden meanings behind the Morse code of teaspoons clattering eloquently in the other room against porcelain cups.

A small grey-eyed cat, curled into a comma, sleeps on the foot of the bed unfazed by the shadows or the lingering chemical-lemon scent of furniture polish.

In the other room, the tea drinkers put down their cups.