and on the rooftops, a jovial bean eater aims his rifle at my friend, demands that he surrender, claims he is a spy. i suppose that would explain why i had been feeling a bit uneasy around my friend for the last few days. whoever carved this impostor was very skilled. later, the bean eaters have a small party on the grassy roof of their own house. [it is the peeling red paint one.] i am invited. the fake friend fuels the fire.
i couldn't bring myself to partake in the festivities, i don't know where my friend is, and i don't know where i am. at the edge of the firelight i quietly evaporate, becoming the shadow, continuing my journey alone. 
[for now.]

[happy thanksgiving, all]

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