If I Were To Write A Piece Of Flash Fiction Interchanging Eyes With Sunshine,

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I’d be prepared to accept the fact that that might be the truth already. I’d be prepared to test this hypothesis beneath the St. Louis Arch, with the fish of the Colorado River, with the ever-gracious employees of the Victorian Doll Museum, with the security crew chasing me across Wrigley Field, with the tourists of Los Vegas, and with the drivers of Los Angeles. I’d ask the people I encountered what it means to believe in anything — what sort of power that has — whether or not it’s worth surrendering to that power, even if you don’t give yourself away — or whether or not it seems just a little weird.

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