11

they descend like a tornado upon the house. suddenly strewn all around are phone chargers, dirty dishes, wrappers, clothes, wet towels, half finished beers, pickled fish, wine, tarot, clay and like an outbreak of hives various patches around the house have inexplicably become slimy or sticky.

they chant about Dads and by moonlight pour water over each other's feet from a golden goblet.

a collective piercing of the plodding regularity of the everyday. a break, into some other realm, summoned and entered into from the house

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