bishop's robes
let the surreal wash over the eyelids, pour into the auditory canals and tickle the tips of fingers.
i thought you were playing dj.
he shrugs.
there are no barriers to contribution, only language barriers and the keyboard is massacred. the character stored in the fingers over come the fascism of the digital.
jono and danielle head to the make out couch, but crawl up the stairs into the birdcage.