#0125. Horrible thoughts come in like storm front clouds, kicking up dust devils in their wake. They don't bring the cool air with them. They bring the stench of the garbage mountain. Horrible thoughts etch into the glass pipeways of my synapses. They sit there until the acid draws right into the gray matter. I am the heir to a fortune in nightmares. Every night I feel the presence looming closer. When you are close to the secret place, the nightmares come more rapidly. The horrible thoughts are bread crumbs leading to where I want to go.
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