There were three clues placed in his path that night, that were stones in his pathway. The first was a one-life bitch talking about hierarchies of
gender. The second was a minor poet doing histrionics which needn’t be enumerated. The third was a brutal rapist that jumped off the Golden
Gate Bridge, but failed to fall all the way down. All these clues led him to sit in coffee-shops, bars, nightclubs, looking for souls to confide in about
that night, how vacant the roads were, how deep the moon was set in heaven. He had waited, just as they said. At the appointed time, he had seen what he
was supposed to see. The problem was, seeing this made him unhappy enough that he walked away from the road and the three clues, never came back. Now,
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