Spin the wheel, and where it lands no one knows--clack...clack...clack...clack...clack--the wheel points north. And so we drive--along the coast through sea oil towns, over bridges to biscuits and gravy and fucked hollandaise. We round the headlands and after some tears and harsh words we stop along a cliff--"I'd rather you didn't jump my dear, but come closer and kiss our hurt away."
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