26 September 2006



The rocket hiccuped. It never refueled. It scratched its own skin. It let its passengers out for short walks on leashes. It roasted in the sun. It kept its interior cool and well lit. It got bored. It ate light. It ignored tiny impacts. It sneezed periodically. It never wanted to come back home. It died many times. It stopped for hitchhikers. It felt empty much of the time. It liked to think about the old days. It enjoyed having its picture taken. It planned to run for office one day. It moved along gravitational wells. It fit the universe.


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