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My day has no pillars, no audible clock ticks. It is like a ladder laying flat on its side with only ghost rungs – separated by consecutive, randomly-achieved events: a tool for climbing made horizontal, useless anymore for reaching heights but repurposed – now just gaps of air spanning point A to point B and as many letters of our mad alphabet as I see fit following that, lain out in a finite stretch of measured distances in time. My day is, as they say, my own…

WHAT TO MAKE OF IT. a novel

Juan-Paolo Perre

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