There is a quickening

WORK・YOU WILL KNOW ME・B.S. FLORID・SIGN OF THE TIMES

Alex wavers as a tissue would versus the wind, back begging and formless in the Pannonian plain. Once hollow for adventure and now roaming without boots or weight, he melts in and out of his tracks through the salt marsh, stretches himself web thin against the night, then merges again with the star glazed gossamer of the gilded steppe.

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